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A  DZIAIKEATXC   SKETCH: 


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SUMNER  LINCOLN  FAIRFIELD, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  SISTEllS  OF  ST.  CLARA, 
LAYS  OF  MELPOMENE,  *c. 


BALTIMORE : 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOSEPH  ROBINSON, 

Circulating  Librarj' 

1825. 


^T./.S^^iS^"^ 


To  STACY  G.  POTTS,  Esq. 


My  Dear  Potts  : 

Poetry  has  been  to  me  a  singular  delight  and  peculiar  happi- 
ness— an  abundant  reward  and  consolation.  In  the  darkest  hours 
of  adversity,  it  has  been  my  only  light ;  in  the  loneliest  solitude, 
my  only  friend ;  amid  a  heartless  world  the  only  faithful  thing. 
I  profess  not  what  1  feel  not — indifference  to  fame  ;  but  that  has 
not  been  my  keenest  incentive  to  composition  ;  that  may  be  a 
halo  which  fades  as  soon  as  seen — a  wreath  that  withers  in  the 
grasp — a  beautiful  dream,  preluding  no  reality.  But  the  Aoni- 
des  have  blessed  me  with  higher  and  purer  pleasures ;  plea- 
sures indestructible,  because  passed  beyond  the  scoff  of  envy 
or  the  sneer  of  derision.  The  happiest  hours  of  my  life  have 
been  the  gift  of  Poetry ;  and,  however  personal  malevolence 
or  literary  partiality  may  neglect  or  contemn  n.y  productions,  I 
shall  always  revere  that  divine  art  which  brings  oblivion  of  pov- 
erty and  wrong  to  the  bleeding  breast.  I  know  very  well 
what  is  the  fate  of  our  choicest  native  flowers;  "the  trail  of 
the  serpent  is  over  them  all"— and  that  serpent  is  neglect.  But 
I  can  endure  this  destiny  with  more  equanimity,  since  my  se- 
cret hours  of  affliction  have  been  blessed  by  the  purest  intellec- 
tual enjoyment.  Flattery  cannot  elevate  nor  malignity  depress 
the  consciousness  of  what  is  due  to  me;  1  shall  never  be  ren- 
dered giddy  by  applause,  nor  miserable  by  censure ;  sensible 
that  contemporary  criticism  is  seldom  ingenuous,  and  that  time 
reverses  the  capricious  judgnaents  of  men.  Tf  I  had  been  the 
slave  of  opinion,  1  should  ere  this  have  been  the  victim  of  per. 
secution ;  if  abuse  had  wounded,  its  many  arrows  would  have 
slain.  But  I  bless  my  God,  that  he  gave  me  a  mind  which  ac. 
knowledges  no  accountability  but  to  itself  and  its  Creator ;  re- 
lies solely  on  its  own  resources;  and  joys  or  grieveh  ptuely 
from  the  impulsions  of  its  own  energies.  1  have  never  been 
A 


IV  DEDICATION. 

accustomed  in  life  to  accredit,  without  examination,  the  dicta 
of  any  man  ;  and  it  is  utterly  impossible  that  I  should  either  fear 
or  reverence  the  unsupported  assertions  of  anonymous  scrib" 
biers. 

For  my  enemies,  hypercritical  and  hypocritical,  I  do,  as  1  have 
long  done,  bid  them  defiance  ;  charitably  trusting  that  their 
own  consciences  have  not  wrought  them  more  suffering  than  it 
has  been  possible  for  them  to  inflict  on  me.  They  have  done 
their  worst,  and  1  have  borne  it — shall  I  shrink  now  ?  Ridicule, 
always  the  resort  of  those  who  never  meet  with  any  thing  wearing 
even  the  semblance  of  reason  or  humanity,  but  they  inconti- 
nently fall  into  their  natural  habit  of  braying,  has  been 
from  time  immemorial  lavished  by  bastard  wits  and  low  buffoons, 
on  the  best,  the  wisest,  the  greatest  of  mankind;  and  if  (to 
mention  no  more)  Southey,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge  and  Mont- 
gomery, have  endured  the  purgatory  of  splenetic  envy,  assu- 
redly it  would  ill  beseem  me  to  complain.  The  Republic  of 
Letters,  like  all  republics,  abounds  with  swaggering  clowns, 
who  would  fain  pass  for  gentlemen  ;  but  no  one,  who  regards 
his  character,  would  condescend  to  contend  with  them,  lest  they 
should  have  some  title  to  honour  fro'n  that  very  circumstance. 
I  invite  not  criticism,  and  I  deprecate  it  not.  Dictatorial  re- 
proof I  shall  always  deride  j  abuse  I  shall  despise  ;  neglect  I 
shall  endure  ;  but  dispassionate  examination  and  candid  remark 
will  ever  meet  with  attention  and  deference.  To  all  who  have 
heretofore  benefitted  me  by  liberal  observations,  I  offer  my 
sincere  thanks ;  to  all  who  have  ridiculed  my  works  and  calum- 
niated my  person,  I  tender  my  pity  and  contempt.  I  hope  my 
friends  will  find  that  their  suggestions  have  been  heeded  ;  and 
my  enemies  perceive  that  their  vituperations  have  poisoned 
none  but  themselves.  I  forgive  them  all— for  this  forgiveness 
costs  me  nothing. 

To  you,  my  dear  friend,  as  to  one  who  equally  despises  the 
fawnings  of  sycophancy  and  the  virulence  of  malignity.  I  dedi- 
cate this  volume  ;  feeling  that  from  this  act  of  justice  I  shall  de- 
rive the  double  satisfaction  of  having  inscribed  the  sources  of 
my  purest  pleasures  to  one  whose  blameless  life  adorns  superior 


DEDICATION.  V 

talent.  Content  to  be  useful  to  a  world,  which,  even  if  it  knew, 
would  not  because  it  could  not  prize  you  ;  happy  in  your  affec- 
tions, and  imparting"  the  fountains  of  happiness  to  others  by 
those  excellent  tales  which  expose  the  follies  while  they  com- 
memorate the  virtues  of  mankind  ;  you  have  never  experienced 
those  vicissitudes  and  misfortunes  which  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
your  less  wise,  less  fortunate  friend.  From  your  quiet  abode 
you  can  behold  the  clouds  and  storms  of  fate  roll  by,  not  mere- 
ly unavved,  but  blest  by  the  contemplation,  marking  the  beauty 
of  their  changeful  folds  and  the  grandeur  of  their  array.  To 
whom,  then,  can  I  more  fitly  dedicate  a  volume,  which  discloses 
too  often,  the  passions  and  the  woes  of  human  life  ?  To  whom 
more  justly  offer  this  testimonial  of  friendship  and  esteem,  than 
to  one  who  has  cheered  me  in  its  production  ?  It  is  certain  it 
would  afford  me  far  higher  pleasure  to  see  your  name  in  the  ti- 
tle-page of  a  volume  of  your  own  tales,  than  to  be  enabled  to 
gratify  my  feelings  and  honour  my  work,  by  appending  it  to  this 
little  publication.  But  since  your  modesty  interdicts  this  jus- 
tice to  yourself,  it  gives  me  peculiar  satisfaction  thus  publicly 
to  bear  record  to  the  moral  goodness  and  intellectual  energy  of 
my  friend  ;  and  that  both  may  long  diffuse  their  brightness  over 
A  darkened  world  is  my  continual  trust.  Accept,  my  friend,  a 
work  of  wandering  youth,  and  with  it  my  regrets  that  it  is  no 
more  worthy  your  name  and  your  approbation  ;  that  what  has 
lessened  the  ills  and  alleviated  the  sorrows  of  my  heart  may 
prove  accepable  in  your  sight,  and  in  that  of  all  candid  and  just- 
principled  persons,  is  the  wish  and  prayer  of, 
My  Dear  Potts, 

Your  Undissembhng  Friend, 

SUMNER  LINCOLN  FAIRFIELD, 
Baltimore y  October^  1825. 


MINA, 

A  BRAIXATIC  SKETCH. 

PART  I. 


SciNE — The  Kancho  del  Venaditi),  on  the  hacienda  of  Tlachiquera, 
near  the  city  of  Guanaxuato,  in  New  Spain.  Time — evening  and  the 
night  succeeding.  Mina  seated  by  an  open  lattice,  and  Rosario,  his 
page,  dimly  seen  at  the  extremity  of  the  room. 


MINA. 

In  this  lone  mansion  of  my  youthful  friend, 

Don  Mariano,  will  I  rest  awhile 

From  war's  tumultuous  turmoil  and  the  rage 

Of  sanguinary  horrors,  and  forget 

For  some  brief  space,  'mid  nature's  still  repose. 

The  miseries  of  nations.     O  thou  blest  Spirit, 

Immutable,  eternal  Liberty ! 

Thy  home  is  on  the  mountains  and  thy  sons 

Must  toil  and  bleed  to  gain  thy  holy  shrine, 

And  break  the  tyrant's  sceptre  and  bestrew 

Their  gory  pathway  with  the  murderous  tools 

Of  fiendlike  dominance; — the»r  midnight  couch 

Must  be  the  cold  damp  earth — their  bosom  friends 

The  full-charged  carabine  and  sheathless  brand, 

B 


8  IWina* 

And  the  wild  cries  of  forest  animals 

Or  lone  responses  of  tired  sentinels, 

Their  broken  slumbers'  lullaby.     The  roar 

Of  enfiladed  musquetry — the  clash 

Of  gleaming  sabres,  and  the  shrieks  and  shouts 

Of  onset,  triumph,  agony  and  death, 

Must  be  the  softest  accents  that  awake 

The  patriot  soldier  from  his  tented  bed. 

And  break  his  feverish  dreams  of  distant  loves. 

But,  oh  !  where  breathes  the  base  degenerate  wretch 

"Who  dares  not  vindicate  the  holy  laws 

Of  all  presiding  nature,  trampled  on  ? 

Who  crouches  at  the  tyrant's  beck  and  does 

The  tyrant's  bidding  on  his  suffering  peers, 

Hath  lost  tlie  privilege  of  man  and  sunk 

Nature  below  her  just  prerogative. 

W^here'er  one  man  by  conquest  or  descent 

Doth  lord  it  o'er  his  fellows,  and  usurp 

Power  from  the  nation,  who  alone  may  rule. 

There  let  the  patriot  rise  in  wrath  and  hurl 

The  despot  to  the  dust  from  which  he  sprung. 

For  thee,  O  heaven  descended  goddess !  thron'd 

In  man's  expanding  soul  e'en  at  his  birth, 

The  pride,  the  glory  of  his  being — long 

And  deeply  hath  my  heart  in  silence  bled. 

Torn  from  life's  best  affections— from  the  love 

Of  mother,  kindred,  friend-^and,  more  than  all, 

Of  her  who  was  the  birth-star  of  my  fate — 

I  have  devoted  my  best  years  to  thee  : 

But  now  awhile  I  may  count  back  the  links 

Of  fortune's  cankered  chain — and  trace  the  clue 


Of  being  through  the  sufferings  and  the  woes 
Of  ever-varying  destiny,  till  again 
I  may  behold  in  mennory's  light  the  scenes 
Of  other  days.     Alas! 

ROSA. 

My  lord,  did'st  call? 

MINA. 

No,  good  Rosario ;  dastard  nature  seeks 

To  play  the  tyrant,  and  perchance  I  shrunk 

A  moment  from  my  spirit's  dignity. 

Prisoned  in  gross  material  substance  oft 

The  heav'n-born  soul  will  droop  beneath  the  weight 

Of  its  vast  energies,  and  leave  the  heart 

Sole  lord  of  all  its  powers ;  but  now  't  is  past, 

The  encroaching  weakness. — But  thy  fragile  frame, 

My  little  page,  unused  to  war's  rude  life. 

And  wasting  toils  and  dangers  imminent. 

Claims  due  repose;  for  me,  since  early  youth 

The  starred  heaven  hath  been  my  canopy, 

The  rock  or  heath  my  bed  ;  and  I  have  slept 

Among  blood-dripping  banners,  shattered  arms. 

And  corses  not  yet  cold  in  death,  so  long 

That  't  is  a  luxury,  unknown  for  years. 

To  slumber  'neath  a  roof; — guerilla  chiefs 

Not  often  find  a  rancho  for  the  night* 

Go  to  thy  slumbers,  lovely  boy ! 

ROSA. 

My  lord. 
Can  I  do  nought  to  serve  thee — nouglit  to  give 


10  £&ina. 

Relief  to  thy  fatigued  and  war-worn  frame, 

That  may  assint  thy  tranquilizing  sleep? 

Could  I  but  soothe  thy  spirit  into  soft 

Repose  or  by  most  fearful  venture  find 

An  opiate  for  thy  heart,  I  should  Indeed 

Be  blest — oh,  more  than  blest,  my  dearest  lord ! 

MINA. 

Thou  art  a  faithful  and  sweet  boy ;  but  what 
Canst  thou,. with  all  thy  tenderness  and  kind 
Observance,  do  to  heal  a  broken  heart 
Or  still  the  torrent  of  a  warlike  soul  ? 
Canst  thou  allay  the  anguish  of  the  past 
Or  kindle  hope  into  fruition  ? — On 
Thy  youthful  brow  there  hangs  the  solemn  shade 
Of  something  ill  by-gone ;  and  canst  thou  pour 
Balm  o'er  a  bosom  robbed  of  all  its  joys  ? 
Thou  well  mayst  turn  away  when  such  a  task, 
Beyond  all  skill  of  mortal  surgery. 
Is  set  before  thee. 

ROSA. 

Good  my  lord,  didst  say 
Thy  heart  was  robted  of  all  its  former  joys  ? 

MINA. 

Ay,  thus  I  said  in  bitterness ;  I  was 

So  happy  once,  it  poisons  all  my  speech 

To  tell  my  present  sorrows.     Wouldst  thou  know, 

Rosario,  all  the  pleasures  of  my  youth 

And  all  my  past  enjoyments — go  and  ask 


The  Alpine  solitudes  of  bold  Monreal, 
The  groves  that  skirt  the  vallies  of  Navarre, 
The  cliff-arched  grottoes  of  the  Pyrenees, 
And  many  a  bower  of  bliss  that  blossoms  yet, 
And  all  will  tell  the  tale.     But  what  avails 
Weak  reminiscence  ?  I  have  wedded  war- 
War  for  the  rights  of  man,  and  holy  bands 
Have  hallowed  my  espousals — o'er  crossed  swords 
The  irrevocable  vow  hath  soared  to  heaven. 
And  deeds  have  stamped  it  with  the  seal  of  fate, 
Unchangeable  as  Deity!  Let  the  past 
Sleep  in  the  unfathomed  ocean  of  the  soul 
Amid  the  wreck  of  glorious  things,  till  time 
And  chance  and  change  no  more  have  influence 
O'er  man's  fresh  budding  hopes — to  blast  and  v.'ither! 
But  why  so  sad  and  pale,  Rosario? 

ROSA. 

A  thought  passed  o'er  my  mind,  as  thou  didst  speak. 
And  1  unwittingly  upon  my  brow 
Did  picture  it — but  now  't  is  gone. 

MINA. 

It  was 

A  thought  of  gloom :  I  may  reciprocate 
Thy  generous  offering  now  and  seek  the  cause 
Of  sorrow  in  thy  soul ;  perchance,  my  fate 
May  teach  thee  moral  warfare  with  the  foes 
That  make  the  heart  their  battlefield,  while  thou 
Art  day  by  day  familiar  with  the  strife 
That  nature's  children  wage  for  liberty. 


i2_  £Bina. 

Thou  well  (lost  know  that  this  my  warrinja:  life 
Suits  not  tlie  feelings  of  my  lieait ;  had  Spain 
Been  other  than  a  dungeon  of  despair, 
Contending  hosts  had  never  known  my  name. 

BOSA. 

I  thought,  my  nohle  lord,  of  thy  bold  deeds 
Of  high  emprise,  and  as  I  followed  on 
From  great  to  greater — from  Marina's  walls 
To  San  Gregorio,  I  could  but  think, 
Had'st  thou  in  either  of  thy  battles  fall'n, 
How  many  eyes  the  story  of  thy  fate 
Had  filled  with  bitter  tears  ;  how  many  hearts 
Writhed  in  deep  anguish  at  thine  early  doom  ! 

MINA. 

^Thanks  for  thy  friendly  thought ;  but  why  forestall 
What  fortune's  chances  may  too  soon  achieve? 
Or 'why  imagine,  were  I  gone,  no  chief 
More  worthy  would  be  left  to  wage  the  war  ? 

ROSA, 

But,  Signor,  thou  ere  while  didst  speak  of  loves; 
Their  hearts  would  surely  bleed  if  thou  wert  gone. 

MTNA. 

There  thou  art  certain  and  thou  well  may'st  be. 
Yes,  many  would  bewail  me — many  weep 
And  mourn  awhile  and  then  resume  tlicir  smiles  ; 
There  is  but  one  who  never  would  forget 
Or  cease  to  sorrow  for  the  daring  chief 


Who  fell  on  foreij^n  strniKl ;  but  she^s  afar 

And  (lead,  perchaiire— away  !    thy  boding  speech 

Would  make  a  dastard  of  iipmortal  Mars. 

Go,  bear  my  best  affection  to  our  host. 

The  gallant  xVlariano,  and  desire 

The  chief  for  converse  of  avail  and  high 

Import  to  meet  me  here  ev^n  now ;  and  then, 

Rosario,  seek  thy  couch  and  court  repose, 

Drowning  thy  fancies  and  thy  fears  alike. 

IIOSA. 

Be  heaven  the  guardian  of  my  noble  chief! 

MINA. 

Amen^  my  little  page  !  good-night,  Rosario ! 

{Exit  Rosario.) 
So  he  hath  gone,  poor  boy  !  his  gentle  heart 
Owns  not  the  warrior's  ardour  in  the  rage 
And  havoc  of  conflicting  elements^ 
But,  oh,  how  often  hath  he  soothed  the  last 
Dread  moments  of  the  soldiers  agonies — 
Stanched  the  deep  wound,  allayed  the  burning  thirst, 
Composed  the  bloody  pillow,  raised  the  head 
Deliiious  with  anguish,  and  with  soft 
Assuasives  lulled  the  fevered  pulse!     How  oft. 
Bent  o'er  the  gory  bed,  hath  he  upheld 
The  blessed  crucifix  before  the  eyc£> 
Of  dying  patriots  and  warmly  breathed 
Their  parting  orison  when  o'er  them  came 
The  shadows  of  untravelled  worlds — the  deep 
Darkness  that  wraps  the  spirit  in  the  vale 


14  jfttiita* 

Of  cold  obliviating  death,  where  yet 
Chaos  maintains  its  old  dominion  dire. 
I  fondly  love  that  sad  mysterious  youth'. 
Until  this  eve  lie  hath  been  silent — watched 
My  wants  and  answered  to  my  wishes  ere 
Articulated;  ever  by  my  side, 
In  thoughtful  silence  he  hath  glided  on, 
Searching  for  foes  and  warning  their  approach 
Long  ere  they  came.     So  much  devotion  flows 
From  some  o'ermantled  cause,  beyond  the  grasp 
Of  calculating  thought — but  I  will  search — 

Enter  Don  Mariano. 
Friend  of  my  youth,  I  greet  thee  well !  't  is  long 
Since  the  wild  waves  of  desolating  war 
Sundered  our  fortunes,  but  again  we  meet 
The  same  as  in  the  antique  hails  and  towers 
Of  venerable  Saragossa. 

MARI4K0. 

Ay,  the  same. 
Or  more,  0  lion-hearted  chief!  thy  praise 
Fills  every  heart  tl)at  feels  for  human  weal. 
And  every  tongue  breathes  eloquence  when  thoB 
And  thy  achievements  are  the  inspiring  theme. 
Eternal  glory  and  undying  fame — 

MINA. 

Beshrew  thy  present  speech,  my  noble  friend, 
And  cull  thy  w  ords  more  carefully.     It  ne'er 
Doth  appertain  to  principles  of  true 
And  genuine  liberty  thus  to  o'erween 


The  simplest  acts  of  duty ;  freedom's  sons 
Should  never  mimic  royal  pageantries, 
Nor  deal  in  adulation,  nor  indulge 
In  undue  forms  of  reverence  to  those 
Whose  names  are  heralded  by  bugle-horns. 
The  eternal  order  of  revolving  worlds 
Is  simple  as  sublime;  let  man's  applause. 
When  due,  be  the  still  look  of  gratitude! 

MARIANO. 

Disclaim,  with  such  high  terms  and  looks  sincere. 
The  extorted  homage  of  the  world,  and  thou 
Mi^ht'st  reign  in  every  human  heart,  .the  lord 
Of  mind — an  empire  tyrants  ne'er  enslaved, 

MINA. 

Thy  pardon,  Signor  !  but  I  wished  to  speak 

Of  things  essential  to  the  present  weal 

Of  myriads.    Thou  know'st  the  nature  close. 

Subtle  and  envious  of  Torres'  soul ; 

How  by  most  guileful  artifice  he  worked 

My  misadventures  in  the  vicinage 

Of  Sombrero ;  and  how,  when  Linah  drew 

His  lines  of  siege  round  San  Gregorio, 

And  threatened  ruin  to  the  coward  priest, 

He  violently  retained  my  choicest  troops 

To  guard  his  Reverence ;  and  sent  me  forth 

With  clowns  undisciplined  and  unobeying, 

To  urge  the  siege  of  Guanaxuato.     There, 

First  deed  of  shame  that  e'er  befel  me — there 

Disgrace  frowned  on  my  once  victorious  bjanner  I 


1©  fHina* 

But  I'll  not  think  of  that  discomfiture. 
For  I  would  }  et  preserve  my  reason  clear. 
Now  for  thy  counsel-^thoju  art  wise  in  war; 
Abide  we  here  or  seek  the  open  plains 
Of  ever-blooming  Silao  ? 

MARIANO. 

No  foes 
Can  thread  yon  deep  barrancas  unbeheld, 
And  none  dare  force  tlie  pass  that  intervenes 
Us  and  Orrantia;  therefore  danger  seems 
Afar  from  thee  and  thy  guerilla  band 
For  a  brief  time;  thou  can«t  augment  thy  strength 
In  silence  here,  and  burst  upon  the  foe 
Again  in  all  thy  terrors  when  he  sleeps 
In  lethargy  of  fancied  safe  repose. 

MINA. 

So  be  it  then  ;  Orrantia  I  despise 

Ev'n  as  the  Pyrenean  huntsman  doth 

The  spectre-haunted  hind  ;  't  would  better  fit 

The  pampered  parasites  of  ruthless  power 

To  play  the  matador,  than  thus  to  lead 

Things  human  to  the  war  of  sacrilege. 

The  dastard  cravens  dare  not  wield  the  brand 

In  manly  fight,  but  steal  behind  and  stab 

V  the  darkness — and  if  by  the  sheerest  chance 

They  seize  a  prisoner,  straight  they  bear  him  on 

To  the  camp's  centre  and  display  their  valour 

In  cruel  slaughter  of  a  pinioned  man: 

Mother  of  God  !  it  is  beyond  the  calm 


Endurance  of  my  nature  to  behold 

Such  demons  triumph  in  a  nation's  wrongs. 

MARIANO. 

Heaven  speed  the  day  when  they  shall  meet  the  doom 
Their  cruelties  have  earned.     But,  noble  chief! 
Or  if  thou  wilt,  good  friend !  't  is  time  that  thou 
Should'st  woo  thy  needful  rest. 

MINA. 

Thou  dost  riot  err, 
For  well  thou  know'st  the  soldier's  wakeful  nights. 
But  first  PU  post  videttes  upon  yon  cliffs 
To  guard  contingencies.     'T  is  ever  thus ; 
Our  safety  must  be  bought  with  others'  danger, 
And  their's  with  ours;  peace. cannot  reign  beloW 
With  holy  liberty,  but  men  will  sigh 
For  dignities  beyond  the  common  lot. 
And  spurn  the  holiest  laws,  and  trample  down 
The  highest  principles  of  things  to  gain 
The  privilege  of  being  cursed  by  broken  hearts 
With  all  the  bitterness^  of  hopeless  woe. 

MARIANO. 

When  I  think  o'er  thy  sufferings  and  thy  deeds, 
My  noble  friend,  since  last  we  met,  I  scarce 
Can  reason  wonder  to  belief  of  fact. 

MINA. 

The  warrior's  course  is  Hke  the  boiling  torrent. 
Roaring  and  flashing  through  tumultuous  scenes, 


18  ifHina* 

Till  the  uncertain  fountain  disappears. 
Come,  Signor,  we  will  tread  the  camp  of  death 
Again  together;  't  is  perhaps  the  last 
Meeting  of  two  oppressed  and  injured  men 
Whose  boyhood  passed  in  words  and  acts  of  love. 


PART  II. 


Scene — A  grove  in  the  rear  of  the  Patriot  camp,  before  the  llancho 
del  Venadito. 


MINA — solus. 

Since  waking  thought  doth  mar  my  quiet  sleep 
With  dreams  of  horror  and  strange  visionry 
Of  coming  ill,  't  is  fitting  that  I  watch 
And  meditate  in  silence  on  the  ways . 
Of  changeful  destiny.     There  is  a  gloom 
Unwonted  on  my  heart;  my  nature's  spirit, 
Erst  active,  vigilant  and  unsubdued 
By  danger  in  most  dread  extremity, 
Doth  listen  now  to  fancy's  whisperings  • 
And  the  half-uttered  oracles  of  dreatns. 
Dim  visionary  shapes  around  me  flit 
Like  shadows  of  futurity,  and  seem 
To  hold  dominion  o'er  my  cowering  soul. 
As  't  were  their  right  to  tyrannize.     Unused 
Am  I  to  all  fantastic  visi tings 
Of  wild  imagination,  working  on 
The  temporary  ills  of  human  life 
And  turning  petty  woes  to  agonies. 
I  will  disrobe  my  spirit  of  the  spell 
c 


20  Mina. 

Of  fancy^s  wizardry  by  converse  high 

With  things  aerial,  and  so  forget 

These  dark  presentiments  and  auguries 

Of  gathering  sorrows. — On  this  lovely  grove 

How  softly  gleams  the  waning  moon  !  the  leaves 

Dance  in  the  autumnal  night-breeze  pure  and  fresh. 

And  gleam  in  dewy  radiance  as  they  turn 

Their  silken  texture  to  the  glimmering  light, 

And  breathe  such  music  as  the  spirits  of  air 

And  water  love  to  drink  j  and  stillness  sleeps 

Upon  the  verdured  earth  and  azure  heaven, 

Like  holy  thoughts  of  heavenly  love  within 

The  cloistered  vestal's  bosom. — But,  alas ! 

Man's  warring  passions  blot  the  fairest  scenes 

Of  heaven's  creation  ;  and  his  curst  ambition 

Corrupts  and  desecrates  all  human  rights 

And  natural  prerogatives,  till  the  slave 

Robes  him  in  panoply  of  dire  revenge. 

And  rushes  forth  to  deeds  of  wo  and  death. 

And  thus  dotti  grief  turn  every  lovely  sight 

And  sound  in  heaven  and  earth  to  its  own  mood. 

Desponding,  dark  and  desolate.     The  world 

Wears  just  the  hue  the  spirit's  robed  withal. 

And  is  not  gay  or  gloomy  in  itself. 

His  heart  is  man's  world,  and  as  that  is  full 

Of  joy  or  sorrow,  so  doth  nature  seem 

Or  dark  or  beautiful.     Ah,  me  !  how  sad. 

Whene'er  the  warrior  sinks  into  the  man, 

A]>pears  this  penal  planet,  where  hopes,  fears. 

And  loves  and  agonies  forever  war  ! 

^ow  little  know  the  multitude  that  hail 


The  conquering  chieftain  in  the  pride  and  pomp 

And  power  of  victory,  and  send  his  name 

In  shouts  triumphant  o'er  the  echoing  skies — 

What  sorrows  in  his  bosom's  inmost  core 

Dwell — silently  corroding  life  away  ! 

The  most  exalted  deeds  that  ever  blazed 

Amid  the  trophies  of  immortal  fame, 

Have  sprung  from  woes  that  sought  relief  and  found 

Alleviation  in  the  loud  uproar 

And  rage  and  slaughter  of  embattled  armies. 

Oft  from  the  dun  obscurity  of  life 

Driven  by  hopeless  passions,  men  have  gone 

Forth  to  the  spirit-stirring  field  of  blood. 

And  raised  proud  monuments,  on  which  their  names 

Live  'mid  the  eternal  blazonry  of  fame, 

From  individual  sorrow,  when  the  world 

Weened    all   their   greatness   sprung  from   purest 

thoughts, 
Or  patriotic  or  aspiring.     Deep 
Within  the  human  breast  unseen,  the  seeds 
Of  actions  lie  j  the  first  growth  of  our  thoughts 
And  feelings  none  can  trace — beneath  the  veil 
Of  motives  undefinable  tliey  spring 
And  flourish  into  being  unbeheld  ; 
'Tis  only  when  they  shoot  up  full  and  strong 
That  their  existence  is  perceptible  ; 
And  then  as  they  bear  fruitage,  good  or  bad. 
Beholders  cultivate  or  check  their  growth. 
Discharging  duty,  I  have  blessed  myself. 
And,  while  absorbed  in  general  misery, 
Forgot  ray  own.     Rosalia's  love  hath  been 


22  mim. 

The  exciting  cause  of  my  most  famous  feats 
In  this  exterminating  war,  though  power 
Tyrannic  forced  me  to  the  battle's  shock. 
But  now,  amid  this  moonlight  grove,  my  love! 
I'll  think  of  thee  in  silence  ! 


Enter  Rosario,  siiddenly. 

ROSA.  * 

0,my  lord ! 

MINA. 

How  now,  my  little  page !  why  thus  abroad. 
Searching  me  out  amid  this  lonely  wood,- 
Not  rather  using  the  dear  privilege 
Of  uridisturbed  repose,  so  seldom  granted 
To  any  of  our  troop  ? 

ROSA.  % 

I  could  not  sleep  ! 
My  soul  vfSis  harrowed  up  by  fearful  dreams 
And  visions  of  such  dread  import,  1  rose 
And  fled  to  shield  me  from  their  influence 
To  thy  forsaken  room  ;  but  thou  wert  gone, 
My  lord,  and  so  I  wandered  forth  to  seek  thee. 

MINA. 

Well,  my  sweet  boy  !  sit  down  upon  this  knoll. 
And  tremble  not  so  fearfully — thou  wilt 
Ne'er  fail  to  find  in  me  a  guardian  friend, 
Ready  to  shield  thee  from  worse  foes  than  dreams. 


ROSA. 

O,  my  dear  lord — oh,  wilt  thou  never  leave  me  ?      : 
How  thy  words  gladden  my  affrighted  heart ! 

MINA. 

Why  this  emotion  ? — dost  thou  doubt  my  faith  ? 
Or  think  thou  hast  just  cause  for  gratitude 
For  that  protection  which  each  soldier  claims 
From  me  by  right  of  service  'neath  command  ? 

ROSA. 

No — yes — my  lord !  I  thought  that  thou— indeed 
I  know  not  what. I  thought — but  I  hoped— 

MINA. 

What? 
Thou  seem'st  in  strange  bewilderment ;  but  tell 
The  dream  that  shook  thy  soul  with  such  affright. 
And  I  will  be  the  prophet  of  thy  visions. 
And  from  thy  fancy's  revellings  will  draw 
Such  sage  revealments  of  approaching  joy 
As  shall  dilate  thy  thrilling  heart  with  rapture. 

ROSA. 

My  dream  was  vision,  and  I  saw  two  forms, 
A  }  outh  and  maid,  reposing  in  a  grove 
Of  flower  wreathed  citrons,  bordering  a  bright 
And  beautiful  lagoon,  and  they  did  seem 
Each  other's  heaven,  so  vividly  their  eyes 
Gleamed  in  their  hearts'  light,  so  rapturous  fond 
Was  every  look,  so  passionate,  and  yet 


24  Dfttna. 

Pure  was  their  long  communion  of  delight. 
How  blisslul  was  their  being!  paradise 
Could  never  bless  faith's  fondest  votaries 
With  more  ecstatic  rapture.     They  appeared, 
Aft  thus  tluey  sat  within  thatbowering  grove. 
Holding  the  eloquent  converse  of  tiie  heart, 
Like  two  young  seraphs  who  were  twins  in  soul. 
Whose  every  thought  was  melody.     1  watched 
The  lovers  long;  and,  oh,  how  happy  thus 
Locked  in  each  other's  fond  embrace,  must  be, 
I  said  and  sighed,  those  two  congenial  spirits ! 
That  vision  fled — the  grove,  the  lake — were  gone- 
The  lovers  parted.     In  a  distant  land 
Of  sky  crowned  mountains  and  of  ocean  streams, 
I  saw  the  youth,  in  martial  garb  arrayed, 
I'  the  van  of  a  few  high  souled  soldiers  move 
Undaunted  through  the  phalanxed  ranks  of  foes 
Unsparing  in  their  power,  and  like  a  god, 
Bear  victory  upon  his  morion's  plume. 
I  had  not  long  beheld  him  glorying  so 
When  by  his  side  I  saw  the  well-loved  maid, 
In  stranger  guise  and  aspect  masked,  with  fond 
Devotion  following  the  uncertain  track 
Of  him — the  idol  of  her  love— 

MINA. 

Strange  dream, 
Rosario — thy  vision  is  most  marvellous. 
Go  on — I  hold  my  heart  in  deep  observance. 


ROSA. 

The  youthful  hero  tliroue^h  entangling  snares 
And  guileful  ambuscades  and  perils  dire 
Kept  on  his  path  of  glory,  and  by  love, 
•Stronger  than  death,  upheld  'mid  scenes  of  blood, 
That  agonized  her  soul,  the  gentle  maid 
Went  on,  the  unknown  companion  of  the  chief; 
Her  sole  delight  to  see  him — hear  him  speak 
Counsel  to  rashness — ardour  to  the  weak — 
H<>pe  to  despondency — to  traitors  death — 
And  watch  the  serpent  wiles  of  coward  foes 
And  blast  them  yet  unformed,     0,  to  be  near  » 

Her  warrior-love  and  see  his  generous  heart, 
Unhardened  by  his  wrongs,  expand  with  true 
Philanthropy  e'en  to  his  enemies — 
'Twas  holier  bliss  than  all  his  private  love ! 

MINA. 

Thou  seem'st,  enthusiast,  in  thy  wondrous  dream, 
To  have  beheld  the  secret  springs  of  thought 
And  loneliest  founts  of  feeling,  well  as  deeds 
That  silently  in  wild  meanders  flow. 

ROSA. 

Ay,  my  good  lord-r— thou  .dost  surmise  aright. 
Such  was  my  vision — but  I'll  tell  thee  all. 
The  youth  and  maid  again  each  other  knew. 
And  loved  as  in  the  springtime  of  their  hearts, 
Tliough  changing  years  had  passed ;  but  as  I  vv  atched 
Fonilly  once  more  their  mutual  loves.  I  saw 
A  serpent  wreathe  his  intertwisted  folds 


26  mina. 

Around  them  as  they  sat,  and  strain  his  coil 

Envenomed  to  its  utmost  dreadful  power; 

I  heard  their  shrieks — their  dying  sobs-T— I  heard 

The  sundering  of  their  crushed  and  broken  frames  ! 

— My  spirit  fainted  in  its  agony, 

And,  struggling  in  my  terrop,  I  awoke 

And  flew  to  thee,  my  own  dear  lord,  for  help. 

MINA. 

A  story  of  romance  clothed  in  a  dream ! 
Methinks,  however,  thy  maid  was  passing  bold 
Thus  to  adventure  in  the  ranks  of  war. 

ROSA. 

How^  could  I  stay  in  peace—  enjoying  all 
The  sweet  delights  of  life  save  love,  when  thou 
Wert  borne  upon  the  hurricane  of  war, 
With  none  but  mercenary  hands  to  serve 
Thy  wants  or  soothe  thy  sufferings !     How — 

MINA. 

Hark ! 
Rosario,  heard'st  thou  that  appalling  shout  ? 

ROSA. 

I  heard  a  hollow  sound,  my  lord,  as  't  were 
Voices  commingled  with  the  tramp  of  steeds; 
Perrhanre,  U  was  but  the  gaunt  wolf's  midnight  cry 
Or  wandering  tread  of  trooping  chargers — 


MINA. 

Hark! 

Again  !  't  is  some  nocturnal  fray — 't  is  base 

Orrantia  ambuscading  round  our  camp — 

The  royal  robber — the  vindictive  fiend 

Who  riots  in  the  brave  man's  agonies. 

We  are  betrayed  by  Torres — he  did  swear 

Revenge  when  I  denied  his  right  to  sack 

And  burn  an  unoffending  piieblo — ah! 

He  hath  not  yet  forgotten  our  duello 

In  earlier  days,  regarding  Garza^s  child. 

The  beautiful  Rosalia.     Let  him  come 

Within  the  compass  of  my  Toledo, 

And  he  and  treachery  will  part  for  ever. 

Away,  Rosario  !  loose  thy  hold — I'll  go 

And  smite  the  midnight  bandit  to  .the  dust* 

Dost  hear  me,  boy  ?  begone  !— there — hark,  again  ! 

By  heaven  !  thou  well  raaintain'st  thy  hold — but  thus 

I  free  me!     ISlovv — 

KOSA. 

0  Xavier,  Xavier,  stay ! 
Rosalia  bids  tliee  stay  ! 


MINA. 


Rosalia ! 


ROSA. 

Yes! 
Have  this  wan  brow — these  pale  and  hollow  cheeks 
No  traces  left  of  her  thou  once  did'st  love, 


28  Mirta. 

And  oft  hast  named  this  melancholy  night? 
Hath  my  voice  lost  by  wse  of  foreign  tones 
Its  well-known  notes  ?     O  Xavier,  look  not  thus 
Wildly  in  doubt  upon  thine  own — own  love ! 
Say — dost  thou  know  me  now  ? 

MINA. 

O  my  sweet  love  ! 
Let  my  heart  speak  in  throbs  of  eloquence 
The  holiest  affection  of  my  soul, 
Since  words  are  vain  to  give  my  feelings  meaning ! 

ROSA. 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  me,  Xavier  ? — no,  't  is  not 

In  thy  kind  nature  to  forsake  me  now. 

Come,  sit  upon  this  velvet-tufted  lawn. 

And  I  will  tell  thee  all  my  wanderings 

And  chance  escapes  and  wondrous  masquerades, 

In  such  a  garb  of  speech  as  shall  light  up 

Thy  face  with  smiles  even  if  hot  briny  tears 

Were  gushing  from  thy  eyes.  Come,  dear  love,  come! 

MINA. 

Not  now,  Rosalia  !     Thou  art  more  to  me 
Than  aught,  save  honour,  'neath  yon  holy  dome ! 
But  slaughter  rages — midnight  massacre 
Shrieks  for  the  avenger.     Hark !  the  deadly  clash 
Of  sabres  reeking  with  hearts'  blood ;  the  cries 
Of  leaguerM  patriots  echoing  through  the  sky, 
And  summoning  their  chief!     I  must  be  gone. 
O  dearest  love — thou  fondest,  truest,  best! 


Let  me  from  thy  last  looks  endearing  draw 
Valour  invincible  to  stem  the  shock 
Of  merciless  Orrantia — courage  such 
As  only  they  can  feel  who  war  for  right 
Eternal  and  unchangeable,  linked  with  love 
Vvhose  light  irradiates  eternity. 
Rosalia,  be  this  kiss — and  this — and  this — 
Pledge  of  my  love,  my  honour  and  my  faith. 
Farewell !  detain  me  not — I  must  be  gone — 
Farewell!  till  victory  weaves  thy  bridal  wreath. 

Exit 
ROSA.— soia. 
Alas  ! — and  why  alas  ?     Hath  he  not  gone 
To  prove  his  fond  devotion  to  my  love 
By  strict  fulfilment  of  his  duty,  faith. 
And  spotless  honour?     0, 1  love  him  more 
The  less  he  heeds  my  womanhood  of  soul 
When  glory  tears  him  from  my  arms  !  From  heaven 
Angels  look  down  on  nothing  that  so  much 
Assimilates  material  things  to  pure 
Intelligences,  as  when  man  surmounts 
His  selfish  nature  and  in  duty's  cause 
Scorns  low  indulgence  of  his  own  desire. 
I  would  again  encounter  all  the  toils 
And  sufferings  and  perils  I  have  past 
Since  last  I  saw  the  mountains  of  Navarre, 
To  witness  such  a  hero  in  the  best 
And  holiest  cause  that  ever  sanctioned  war. 
As  tliat  dear  youth,  who   spurns  the  encroaching 

power 
Of  private  feeling  at  the  warning  voice 


so  ifMtna. 

Of  liberty — the  life  of  life — the  soul 

Of  souJ  to  man  below.     And  yet,  ah,  yet 

A  dread  hangs  o'er  my  heart — an  omen  dire 

Shadows  my  spirit  that  I  ne*er  shall  see 

The  conquering  chieftain  in  his  pride  again. 

— Jesu  Maria  !  what  a  yell  of  death  ! 

On  the  still  air  of  night  come  screams  and  shouts 

And  shrieks  of  agony  and  trumpet  blasts. 

And  short,  quick  orisons  and  curses  fell, 

And  notes  of  loud  command  and  rallying  cries, 

And  thunder  of  dread  musquetry,  and  groans 

Dreadful — commingled  in  one  horritl  mass 

Of  rending  sound !     Amid  yon  glaring  fires 

Of  death,  dark  forms  are  grappling  in  the  mad 

Struggle  of  desperation  ;  there  they  tug 

And  strain  and  stab  and  wield  the  clotted  brand, 

Horseman  to  horseman  in  the  latest  strife 

That  either  foe  will  wage :  and  there — oh,  there 

Upon  his  coal-black  steed,  through  fire  and  smoke, 

O'er  dead  and  dying,  Mina  hurtles  on 

Mid  bristling  lances,  bayonets  and  brands, 

Like  the  death-angel,  while  the  Vive  el  Rey^ 

Where'er  he  moves,  becomes  the  loud,  the  wild, 

The  joyful  Viva  la  Repnblica  I 

Ah,  he  hath  vanished  from  my  wondering  eye 

On  his  career  (»f  victory,  but  still 

His  voice  in  louder  tones  above  the  noise 

And  din  of  battle  like  a  clarion  rings. 

I'll  look  no  more — my  hero-love  will  come 

Soon  from  the  field  of  glory  and  receive 

His  own  loved  maid.     I  see  an  armed  band 


Approaching  now  like  victors  and  their  plumes 
Wave  in  the  morning  twilight  as  they  come 
Careering  on,  like  harbingers  of  good 
Tidings  to  me — 0  Xavier!  they  are  here. 

Enter  Bon  Pedro  Negrette  and  soldiers. 

PEDRO. 

A  delicate  warrior,  by  the  mass  !  no  doubt 

The  sage  of  sages  in  the  council-hall 

Of  conquering  Mina !     Art  thou  well  prepared 

To  hail  the  victor  from  his  glorious  field 

Of  slaughter,  and  to  chant  triumphal  songs 

In  honour  of  his  name,  0  prophet-boy  ? 

Guards  !  seize  the  rebel  youth  and  onward  wend 

To  Don  Francisco's  central  camp,  where  soon 

The  wisdom  of  the  beardless  wizard  will  be  shown 

And  proved — if  in  his  art  abides  the  power 

To  avert  his  master's  or  his  own  sure  fate. 

ROSA. 

O  Virgin  Mother !  have  my  fears  come  true  ? 
Is  Mina  vanquished  ?    May  the  eternal  ban 
Of  heaven  rest  on  the  traitor  Torres ! 

PEDRO. 

Ha! 
Thou  art  a  very  prophet,  but  thy  curse 
Falls  harmless  oh  the  corse  of  Padre  Torres. 


32  IHina. 

ROSA. 

O  jubilate  !  Mina  is  avenged  ! 

His  own  tried  sabre  clove  the  traitor's  brain  ! 

PEDRO. 

Prophet  again  !  thou  soon  wilt  know  the  art 
Of  ruling  traitors — onward  to  the  camp! 


PART  III. 


Scene— The  camp  of  Don  Francisco  de  Orrantia,  ihe  royal  commander. 
Don  Xavier  Mina  and  Officers,  prisoners,  pinioned  and  manacled. 


PRANCISCO. 

So,  Traitor!  justice  claims  its  own  at  last! 
Audacious  rebel  to  the  best  of  kings! 
In  what  close-woven  mail  of  hardihood 
Could'st  thou  infold  thy  conscious  soul  to  dare 
The  vengeance  due  to  most  abandoned  guilt, 
Thou  renegado  robber  ?     When  we  laid 
With  righteous  arm  thy  base  assassin  horde 
F  th'  dust  beneath  our  conquering  chargers*  hoofs, 
And  thou  alone  fled'st  from  our  dreadful  might, 
Did  never  vain  repentance  of  thy  crimes 
Torture  and  madden  thee?     Did'st  never  feel 
How  impotent  was  all  thy  wrath  and  rage 
Against  the  anointed  monarch  of  the  Lord  ? 
Answer,  bold  rebel !  ere  tlie  stroke  of  fate 
Fall  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  thy  head ! 

MINA. 

That  I  do  answer  suits  my  own  desire 

To  tell  thee  what  thou  art — not  thy  command. 

First  to  thy  charge — I  glory  in  a  name 


34  mina. 

Which  counties^  lieroes  by  their  blood  have  hallowed) 

The  wreathing  incense  of  the  eucharist 

Is  not  more  holy  than  the  deeds  of  him 

Who  toils  and  bleeds  and  welcomes  perils  dire 

That  he  may  disenthral  the  sons  of  God 

From  murderous  tyranny.     Next  thy  quest — 

My  panoply  through  all  this  war  hath  been 

An  unstained  spirit,  resolute  and  free — 

An  uncorrupted  heart  that  throbbed  with  love 

To  God  and  man,  and  longed  to  see  mankind. 

Unfettered  by  the  tyrant's  shackles,  soar 

To  that  proud  station  guaranteed  by  heaven 

When  first  the  sun  burst  on  their  infant  eyes. 

And  next,  thou  tool  of  power !  thy  boastful  vaunt — 

Shall  such  as  thou  of  war  and  victory  prate  ? 

Or  boast  of  battles  ?     'Twere  enough  to  call 

The  Cid  from  his  long  slumbers  in  the  tomb 

To  hear  thee  talk  of  prowess  !     I  have  seen 

Thee  and  thy  thousands  scattering  like  a  flock 

Of  vultures  when  I  sent  El  Giro  forth 

With  one  poor  score  of  Creole  peasantry. 

Armed  scarcely  with  a  lance !     Reserve  thy  vaunts 

Orrantia,  till  thy  mercenary  troops, 

Confiding  in  the  might  of  multitudes. 

Do  that  thou  would'st  not  dare  to  do  ev'n  now, 

Chained  as  I  am ! — Ay,  writhe  and  foam  and  stamp, 

Thou  guilty  coward  !     Wear  thy  haughtiest  looks 

And  prate  of  bloodiest  battles  as  thou  wilt. 

But,  by  the  rood  !  the  veriest  boor  that  e'er 

Battled  beneath  my  banner's  crimson  shade. 

Would  with  the  flashing  of  a  carbine  fright 


Thy  soul  into  annihilation.     Now 

Fve  (lone  with  thee  for  ever,  and  with  those 

Who  sent  thee  forth  to  massacre  and  burn. 

I  dare  thee  to  the  compass  of  thy  power  ! 

Death  hath  too  long  been  my  companion — now 

To  dread  the  shadows  of  another  world. 

For  one  score  years  and  five  I  have  desired 

To  do  what  laws  or  human  or  divine 

Enjoined  in  justice  ;  if  Pve  erred  and  sinned 

In  passion's  heat,  the  account  remains  with  Him 

Who  made  me — not  with  thee  nor  thy  dread  king. 

Now  take  my  dying  words — and  note  them  well — 

Thy  sovereign  is  a  tyrant — Spain  a  den 

Of  slaves,  to  madness  driven  hy  fiends  like  thee. 

Who  batten  on  a  dying  nation's  blood. 

PR  AN. 

There  is  my  answer  to  thy  rebel  speech. 

{Strikes  him.) 

MINA. 

Inglorious  wretch!  is  this  Castilian  honour? 
Enter  Don  Alya  Argensola,  mariscal  de  campo. 

ALVA. 

It  ill  hefits  a  son  of  Spain,  my  lord, 
Idly  to  look  upon  a  deed  so  far 
Beneath  Uispania's  martial  character 
As  stroke  of  sabre  on  a  pinioned  man. 
And  he  a  prisoner. 
d3 


FRAN. 

Keep  thy  counsel,  sage  ! 
And  leave  ray  presence ! 

AXVA. 

When  it  suits  my  will. 
I  quail  not  at  thy  frown,  proud  chief!     I  hold 
Authority  from  higher  powers  than  thee. 

FRAN. 

Leave  me  or  ere  I  speak  again,  proud  rebel ! 
Else— 

ALVA. 

Rebel — ha ! — Don  Pedro  !  {Enter  Pedro.)^ 

PEDRO. 

Well,  my  lord ! 

ALVA,  {aside.) 
The  youthful  prisoner  thou  just  hast  seized 
Bear  thou  in  most  observant  courtesy 
To  yonder  holy  convent  dimly  seen 
Of  San  Lorenzo  ;  place  thy  tender  charge 
Safe  in  its  holy  walls — then  point  thy  march 
With  all  my  powers  toward  Victoria's  camp, 
Boquilia's  citadel.     I'll  meet  thee  there. 
See  it  be  done  anon. 

PEDRO. 

I  shall,  mj  lord  !  {Exiu 


FRAX. 

What  meant  thy  silent  converse  ? 

ALVA. 

Honour. 

FRAN. 

Ha! 

Brief  as  the  Spartan — hold  as  guilt;  beware  L 

ALVA. 

I  shall  beware  of  those  who  dare  overstep 

Humanity's  prerogatives  and  laws 

Of  nations ;  threats  from  him,  however,  who  know& 

No  better  using  of  his  sword  than  on 

A  fettered  captive,  weigh  not  much  with  me. 

I  wait  thy  orders,  be  they  such  as  man 

Can  execute. 

FRAN. 

Retire  and  call  the  guard  !  {Eccit  Mva. 

Now,  Xavier  Mina,  for  thy  treason  death 

Instant  awaits  thee !     Padre  Buenventura 

Will  shrive  thee  of  thy  crimes  as  priests  are  wont. 

Then  righteous  justice  will  exact  its  own  ; 

Save  that  thou  wilt  accept  Fernando's  good 

Indidto  and  thy  troops  array  beneath 

The  royal  standard. — Hear'st  thou  mercy's  voice  ! 

MINA. 

I  hear  the  Voice  of  cowardice  and  shame  j 
I  hear  a  voice  that  trembles  at  its  own 


38  IHinar* 

CommaTids  ;  the  voice  of  liim  who  dreads  the  sound 
or  (loath  ;  of  hiin  whose  bones  wili  lie  i*  th'  sun 
Bleaching;  or  ere  my  corse  Is  cold,  if  yet 
A  patriot  breathes  in  this  ensanguined  land. 

Re-enter  Don  Alva  and  guard. 

PKAN. 

Take  yon  base  traitor  outward  of  the  camp 
Fronting  the  convent  and  despatch  him  there. 

ALVA. 

Hath  he  been  sentenced  by  the  laws  to  die  ? 

FRAN. 

Dar'st  thou  discourse  on  my  commands?     My  will 
Is  law  not  subject  to  appeal. 

ALVA. 

With  slaves 
It  may  be — not  with  me.     All  men  have  rights 
Sv.orn  to  them  by  society  when  first 
Tliev  enter  on  the  world,  and  all  may  claim 
Their  native  piivilege;  none  can  deny 
Their  just  demand  except  by  forfeiture 
or  their  ow  n  safety.     Be  the  peril  thine, 
11  »he  Count  Mina  fall  unheard,  unjudged, 
Before  his  country's  stern  tribunal ! 

FRAN. 

And  mine  it  shall  be ! — and  the  peril  thine 


To  answer  bold  infraction  of  the  laws 
Of  war,  ere  yonder  sun's  last  crimson  beams 
Fade  from  the  western  horizon.     Away ! 
Bear  on  the  traitor  to  the  field  of  fate — 
The  pleasure's  mine  to  certify  his  death. 

{Exeunt 

[To  the  arena  before  the  convent ;  a  stake  in  the  midst  to  which  Mina  i» 
bound — soldiers  preparing-  for  execution.  Francisco  approaches  with 
a  blinding  cap  ;  and  at  the  same  time  a  shriek  is  heai'd  from  the  con- 
vent, and  Rosalia  is  seen  at  a  grated  window,  gazing  wildly  on  the 
scene  below.] 

MINA. 

Away!  Pve  looked  on  death  too  long  to  fear 

What  man  can  do^  no  mortal  power  shall  cloud 

My  eye  till  expiration's  shadows  dim 

Its  fire ;  it  shall  not  close  upon  the  earth 

Until  it  flashes  on  eternity. 

What  shriek  was  that?  ha  ! — soldiers — 't  is  the  last 

And  only  wish  I  e'er  shall  speak — be  sure 

Your  aim  err  not — and  let  your  signal  be 

My  last  word — Now  !  (  Theyjire — he  falls.) 

SOSA. 

0  God  !  O  God  !  he's  dead  ! 

FRAX. 

So  perish  traitors  !     Take  ye  careful  note 

That  life  be  utterly  extinct,  and  word 

All  your  averments  with  perspicuous  art — 

Then  leave  the  unhallowed  corse  for  vultures'  food. 

And  make  ye  close  inquest  whence  came  that  shriek 

Of  horror,  and  from  whomsoe'er  it  came, 


40  iBina. 

straight  bring  the  rebel  to  my  camp. — And  now 
For  potent  Alva.  {Exit. 

FIRST    SOL. 

Comrade,  is  he  dead  ? 

SEC.    SOL. 

Ay,  the  great  cliief  hath  gone !  My  trembling  heart 
Knocked  'gainst  my  ribs  as  't  would  have  rung  a 

knell 
For  the  great  hero ;  how  he  stood  and  looked 
And  spake  the  death-word  !     Dost  thou  think  our 

chief 
Would  dare  a  score  of  carbines  so? 

riRST    SOL. 

Canst  tell 
Where  is  Don  Alva  ? 

SEC.    SOL. 

In  the  patriot  camp 
Of  Count  Victoria  ere  this  hour  of  doom, 

FIRST    SOL. 

Will  follow,  comrades  ? 

ALL. 

Alva  is  our  chief! 

SEC.    SOL. 

Lift  then  the  hero's  corse  within  the  walls 
Of  holy  San  Lorenzo,  where  due  rites 


Will  hallow  the  great  warrior's  biu'ial ; 
Then  folhnv  on  Don  Alva^s  way  and  make 
Report  throui^^h  all  the  land  that  Mina  lives, 
Devoted  still  to  liberty  and  vengeance  ! 

{Exeunt. 

BOSA. 

{Embracing  the  body  of'Mimi^  surrounded  by  the  sis- 
terhood and  monks.) 
Ah,  he  hath  gone  ! — the  great,  the  lovely  one, 
Even  in  his  pride  of  fame!     The  voice  that  spake 
Victory  to  nations  in  their  glorious  strife 
For  freedom — and  to  me  in  softest  tones 
Most  holy  love — is  hushed  for  ever  more ! 
His  early  hopes  of  quiet  happiness — 
Life's  sweet  affections  and  domestic  joys, 
In  youth  he  quitted  to  subserve  the  cause 
Of  those  who  bled  for  freedom  ;  long  he  warred 
For  liberty  not  his  own — long  he  bore 
Unmurmuring  all  the  perils  and  the  wants 
Of  march,  encampment,  siege  and  battle — what 
Hath  been  the  hero's  recompense?     His  good 
Deeds  and  pure  thoughts  all  turned  against  himself! 
0  world  !  base  world  !  thou  changest  at  a  breath 
Virtue  to  vice,  heroes  to  fiends,  and  heaven  to  hell. 
The  Holy  One  was  scoffed  and  buffetted 
And  mocked  and  beat  and  crucified  !     To  Him 
Who  was  a  Man  of  Soriows  while  he  dwelt 
Incarnate,  and,  O  Holy  Virgin!  unto  thee, 
In  penance  for  the  past,  do  I  devote 
My  melancholy  days;  and  here  in  lone 
Seclusion  o'er  thy  grave,  my  warrior-love ! 


4a  mma. 

I  will  revere  thy  memory,  liovve'er 
Traduced  and  vilified  by  wicked  men ; 
Thy  name  shall  be  the  theme  of  all  my  thoughts, 
Tlie  spell-word  of  my  orisons  5  for  long 
As  high  heroic  deeds  and  virtues,  pure 
As  snow  in  upper  air,  shall  claim  regard. 
The  wise,  the  great,  the  good  of  humankind 
Will  chant  the  praises  of  the  gallant  Mina! 
Ye  holy  men  !  now  bear  the  glorious  chief 
To  his  last  resting-place  beneath  yon  lines 
Of  cypresses  and  near  his  tomb  I'll  rest 
From  all  the  feverish  passions  of  the  world. 
Its  cares,  its  sorrows  and  its  calumnies. 
With  you,  O  holy  virgins  !     From  your  shrine 
My  penitential  prayers  shall  rise  what  time 
The  midnight  tapers  burn,  and  holy  spirits 
Delighted  hover  o'er  the  perfumed  altar ! 
And,  when  the  soul  disrobes  itself  of  clay. 
With  sacred  rites  and  high  observances. 
Ye  will  my  body  lay  not  far  from  his 
Who  loved  and  fought  and  bled  and  died  in  vain  ? 


xmrocATXoN. 


O  THOU  bright  Spirit !  thou  whose  power  is  o'ec 
The  poet's  all  creating  thought,  whatever 
Thy  unknown  nature  be,  or  like  the  air 
Impalpable^  the  essence  of  a  soul. 
Star-winged  and  eagle-eyed,  or  human  shape 
Lone  dwelling  amid  silent  solitudes. 
Nymph,  muse  or  oread,  Olympic-born, 
Unseen  and  shrined  in  mystery ; — where'er 
The  glory  of  thy  beauty  beams,  among 
The  ancient  woods  of  thy  proud  dwelling-place, 
Parnassus,  or  the  fair  JEgean  isles. 
Or  o'er  the  haunted  stream  of  Helicon, 
Gushing  mid  flowers  that  skirt  its  holy  banks. 
To  great  Apollo  sacred  and  the  nine ; 
Or  mid  the  blue  arcades  of  yonder  sky 
Where  Dian  walks  in  brightness  and  the  stars 
Stud  ministering  spirits'  pathway  thick  and  fair 
As  bright-eyed  daisies  gem  the  mead; — whate'er 
Thou  art  and  wheresoe'er  thy  presence  dwells— 
O  come,  fair  Spirit !  come  in  all  thy  charms 
And  bring  elysium  to  a  suffering  heart ! 

In  childhood's  hours— lone,  visionary,  wild, 
Silent  and  solitary,  w:hile  yet  the  sum 
Of  my  heart's  pulses  could  be  reckoned — thou 


44  Sitbocatiott 

Wert  my  devotion  and  I  loved  to  drink 

The  incense  of  thine  altar,  and  imbibe 

Thy  spiritual  breathings,  and  I  felt  my  soul 

Dilate  with  rapture  when  upon  me  came 

A  mighty  awe  and  reverend  majesty, 

A  passion  purified,  a  godlike  power, 

Which  brought  the  universe  within  my  grasp, 

And  made  high  seraphim  my  ministers. 

And  now  I  would  become  thy  worshipper. 

True  and  devoted,  though  too  full  of  sin 

And  mortal  stains  for  thy  immortal  smiles, 

Undimmed  by  gross  materiality. 

But^  Holy  Spirit !  I  have  been  the  child 

Of  sorrow,  and  my  sole  delight  for  years 

Of  melancholy  memories  hatli  been 

Thy  lofty  service;  oh,  thou  oft  hast  taught 

My  heart  forgetfulness  of  grief  and  pain 

And  obloquy  and  scorn  and  poverty, 

And  all  the  nameless  ills  and  wrongs  that  wear 

With  endless  iteration  life  away. 

And  I  have  gloried  in  thee  when  the  world, 

The  brutal  world  mocked  thee  with  taunt  and  sneer. 

And  .one  quicTt  passing,  visionary  hour. 

Past  in  thy  high  communion,  when  the  stars 

Were  my  companions  and  the  moon  my  bride. 

Hath  been  more  precious  to  my  soul  than  all 

The  pageantries  of  pride  and  show  of  art. 

AVhen  cares  have  come  upon  me,  and  the  woes 

Of  life  grew  darker  on  my  tearful  eye, 

And  hate  and  envy  blackened  my  good  name. 

And  the  stern  voice  of  strife  assailed  mv  ear 


Blended  with  demon  shouts,  and  I  beheld 

No  friend  among  my  unrelenting  foes  ;-^ 

When  in  the  invisible  night,  alone — 

Silence  ^nd  solitude  around— my  heart 

Hath  bled  and  my  soul  sunk  into  despair, 

I've  turned  to  thee  and  found  in  thy  sweet  smile 

A  paradise,  beyond  the  reach  of  worms, 

Whose  venwm  hath  all. qualities  of  hell 

Save  power  to  give  it  action ;   there  I've  dwelt 

In  loneliness  and  bliss,  far  from  the  noise 

And  din  of  the  world's  warring,  wholly  blest 

In  thy  etherealizing  look  of  love ! 

Oh,  then  descend,  great  Spirit !.  on  me  novv 

And  light  my  bosom  with  empyreal  fires ! 

Spring  with  her  flowers  and  verdure  and  gay  birds^ 

Soft-voiced  and  musical,  and  bright-blue  skies, 

And  calm,  transparent  waters,  smiles  around. 

And  as  I  speak  to  thee,  the  silvering  moon 

Lights  the  green  foliaged  hills  that  gently  slope 

Down  to  yon  lovely  bay,  and  on  my  brow 

Shines  like  a  mother's  eye  upon  her  child, 

First  born,  most  loved  ;  and  from  the  lilac  flowers,, 

Purple  and  fragrant,  and  the  aspen  trees 

Fresh  leaving,  and  the  dark  green  dewy  grass, 

The  ^usurrating  airs,  sweet-scented,  come 

Upon  me,  like  the  memory  of  youth. 

Sure  thou  wilt  come  on  such  a  night  as  this, 

Spirit  of  Poesy  !  and  from  thy  w  ings 

Scatter  the  perfume  of  the  skies  on  earth  ;. 

Thou  wilt  descend  from  thine  aerial  home. 

And  teach  thy  son,  (unworthy  all,  but  true, . 


46  Sbonitett 

Knowledge  of  unseen  worlds,  and  guide  aright 
The  searchings  of  his  too  adventurous  tliought. 
Free  from  the  wiles  and  snares  of  disbelief. 
Or  sceptic  question  ; — thou  wilt  mark  his  path 
And  note  its  errings  manifold  ;  thy  smile 
Will  light  his  way,  and  thus  he  may  advance 
Onward  to  heaven  in  peace,  unenvying  all 
The  gaudy  state  and  circumstance  of  m^n. 
So  thou  wilt  prove  his  minister  of  joy 
And  change  the  poisoned  waters  of  fierce  strife 
And  hate  and  envy  into  springs  of  love ; 
And  when  the  portal  of  the  skies  expands 
Before  me,  and  death  rends  these  bands  of  clay, 
Thou,  Holy  Spirit !  wilt  await  my  steps, 
And  welcome  home  the  wandering  child  of  God! 


SONITET. 


Born  in  convulsions,  nursed  in  grief  and  pain. 
And  doomed  in  childhood  to  endure  the  spite 
Of  hate  long  hoarded— earth  had  no  delight 
For  me  in  all  her  ways  of  mirth— no  strain 
To  soothe  my  heart;  no  charm  to  chain  my  sight ; 
No  spell  of  pleasure  and  no  hope  of  gain  ; 
But  all  was  bleak  and  dreary  as  the  reign 
Of  scowling  winter,  robed  in  enclless  night; 


Yet  I  have  seen  the  World  and  known  it  well — 
Its  hopes,  fears,  follies,  crimes—- and  I  have  been 
The  brother  of  affliction,  and  each  scene 
Of  fate,  though  varied,  still  was  miserable  ; 
But  I  have  learned  to  know  myself  and  bow 
Humbly  to  Him,  who  doth  my 'sorrows  know* 


THE   IDEAIiIST. 


I^Vhen  the  last  hues  of  sunset  fade  away, 
And  blend  in  magic  wreaths  of  light  and  shade. 
And  stillness  sleeps  beside  the  closing  day. 
Drinking  the  music  of  the  breezy  glade, 

I  love  to  wander  forth  alone 

Through  shadowy  groves  and  solemn  woods^ 

And  muse  of  pleasures  past  and  gone, 

'Mid  nature's  holy  solitudes  ; 
For  then  my  spirit  to  its  God  aspires, 
And  worships  in  the  light  of  Love's  ascending  fires. 

Where  rocks  hang  tottering  from  the  mountain's  side, 
And  ancient  trees  in  hoary  grandeur  wave, 
I  love  to  sit—  forgetting  pomp  and  pride. 
And  all  the  passions  that  the  soul  enslave, — 

And  yield  my  heart  to  the  sweet  charm 

Of  nature  in  her  loneliness, 
b2 


48  Baeali^U 

While  soft-voiced  zephyrs,  breathing  balm, 
The  perfHmed  shrubs  and  flowers  caress. 
And  the  last  song-bird  pours  her  parting  lay 
Of  love  and  praise  to  bless  the  brightly- closing  day. 

There  is  a  loveliness  in  nature's  smile, 
Which  fills  the  heart  with  heaven's  own  holy  glad- 
ness, 
Though  he,  who  banquets  on  her  charms,  the  while 
Feels  thoughts  steal  o'er  him  near  allied  to  sadness  j 

When  'mid  the  perfect  works  of  God, 

He  muses  on  the  sin  and  folly 

That  make  man's  heart  their  dark  abode — 

Oh,  who  would  not  be  melancholy  ? 
How  sad  the  thought  that  this  fair  world  should  be 
The  dwelling-plaCe  of  guilt  and  helpless  misery ! 

Yet  if  his  woe  be  unallied  to  crime. 
And  suffering  not  from  evil  conscience  spring. 
To  nature's  bosom  let  him  come,  what  time 
Flowers  ope  the  bud  and  birds  are  on  the  wing, 
And  there  the  fretful  world  forget 
And  search  the  w  orld  of  his  own  breast. 
Where  thoughts,  like  suns,  arise  and  set, 
And  whirlwind  passions  rage  unblest  j 
There  let  the  son  of  song  and  sorrow  lie 
And  inspiration  catch  from  nature's  speaking  eye! 

From  earliest  youth  I  loved  alone  to  climb 
The  moss-wreatlied  rock,  and  from  the  mountain's 
brow, 


O^er  sea  and  land^  ah  amplitude  sublime. 
To  gaze  when  sunk  the  sun  in  radiant  glow, 
And  poured  o'er  verdured  vales  and  hills. 
And  groves  and  meads  and  gushing  streams, 
Such  glory  as  creation  fills. 
His  last  full  swell  of  golden  beams. 

0  ye,  who  would  adore  the  Eternal  Power, 

Go  forth  alone  and  pray  at  evening's  hallowed  hour ! 

The  spirit  then  throws  off  the  garb  of  clay. 
Which  in  the  warring  world  'tis  doomed  to  wear. 
And  robes  itself  in  beautiful  array, 
And  soars  and  sings  amid  the  blooming  air. 
Where  in  aerial  halls  of  light 
Meet  kindred  spirits,  pure  and  goo(J> 
And  parted  souls  again  unite 
Where  grief  and  pain  cannot  intrude, 
And  in  the  radiance  of  soul-mingling  eyes. 
Reveal  the  mystic  power  of  heaven's  high  harmonies. 

1  ever  was  a  melancholy  child, 
Unmirthful  and  unmlngling  with  the  crowd; 
The  loneliest  solitude  on  me  hath  smiled 
When  lightning  darted  from  the  rifted  cloud  ; 

And  I  have  felt  a  strange  delight 
^Mid  forests  and  the  cavern's  gloom. 
And  wandered  forth  at  dead  midnight 
To  muse  beside  the  lonely  tomb; — 

I  always  loved  the  light  of  that  dread  eye. 

Which  flashed  upon  me  from  eternity ! 


50  l^tali^U 

I  knew  not  whence  such  unshared  feelings  came — 

I  only  knew  my  heart  was  full  of  deep 

Emotions  vi-vid — but  without  a  name; 

Within  my  breast  they  would  not — could  not  sleep. 
But  swayed  me  in  their  giant  power 
To  passion's  uncommuning  mood, 
And  drove  me  from  the  festive  bower 
To  ruined  tower  and  lonely  wood, 

Where  on  my  soul  ideal  glories  came. 

Fairies  and  oreads  bright  and  coursers  wrapt  in 
flame* 

Oh,  how  I  loved  that  solitary  trance — 
That  deep  upheaving  of  the  bosom's  sea, 
O'erstrewn  with  gems  that  dazzled  on  my  glance, 
Like  eyes  that  gleam  from  out  eternity ! 
Creatures  of  every  form  and  hue. 
Lords  of  the  earth  and  angels  past 
In  garb  of  go^ld  before  my  view, 
Like  lightnings  on  the  hurrying  blast. 
And  voices  on  my  inward  spirit  broke. 
And  mysteries  breathed,  and  words  prophetic  spoke. 

The  child  of  reverie  and  the  son  of  song, 
A  word  could  wound  me  or  a  look  depress ; 
I  saw  tlie  world  was  full  of  ill  and  wrong 
And  sin  and  treachery  and  sad  disti'pss ; 

And  so,  e'eij  in  my  youth's  bright  morn, 

I  fled  the  haunts  that  others  love. 

That  I  might  think  why  I  was  born,  . 

And  what  below  and  what  above 


Was  due  from  one  thus  sent  upon  the  earth 
To  sow  and  reap  in  tears  and  mourn  his  painful 
birth. 

My  birth-place  was  the  airy  mountain  height, 
And  childhood  passed  'mid  nature's  grandeur  wild, 
And  still  I  see,  by  memory's  magic  light, 
How  on'  my  soul  each  Alpine  mountain  smiled  ! 
Though  years  have  passed  since  I  was  there. 
And  many  a  change  hath  o'er  me  come^ 
There's  not  a  scene,  or  wild  or  fair. 
Around  my  long  forsaken  home, 
But  I  could  point  in  darkness,  out,  and  tell 
The  shape  and  form  of  things  I  loved  so  well. 

Trees,  birds  and  flowers  were  my  familiar  friends 
In  boyhood's  days — and  every  leaf  that  grew 
My  vine-wove  arbour  round  my  love; — there  blends 
With  budding  thought  a  spirit  from  the  dew. 
That  gems  each  quivering  leaf  and  flower; 
And  precious  to  the  mind  mature 
Are  memories  of  that  guiltless  hour. 
When  with  a  worship  fond  and  pure 
The  soul  beheld  in  every  thing  below 
A  God  sublime,  whom  we  in  works  alone  can  know. 

Deep  in  the  soul  rest  early  thoughts,  and  now 
I  love  to  roam  'mid  lonely  hills,  when  night 
Her  starry  veil  throws  o'er  her  spotless  brow, 
And  wraps  her  elfin  form  in  fair  moonlight; 


5^  Sonnet* 

Then  o'er  me  come  those  thoughts  agaiit, 
Which  were  my  food  in  other  years, 
And  I  forget  my  bosom's  pain, 
And  cease  to  feel  my  trickling  tears. 

Weird  sybils !  cease  of  destiny  to  prate ! 

The  boy  creates  for  life  and  ratifies  his  fate. 

Here  let  me  rest — a  wanderer  tired  and  faint. 
Dear  Nature !  on  thy  soft  maternal  breast, 
And  learn  for  others  those  fair  scenes  to  painty 
Which  taught  me  wisdom  and  which  made  me  blest! 
Fashion  and  folly  still"  may  rove 
And  seek  for  pleasure  in  the  throng, 
But  I  will  live  in  thy  sweet  love. 

And  blond  thy  praiSCS  With  my  SOlig, 

O  lovely  daughter  of  the  holy  One, 

Whose  smile  wafts  spirits  to  the  heavenly  throne !  , 


SOiriTZST.* 


The  man  who  feels  the  majesty  of  Mind, 
And  the  omnipotence  of  Intellect, 
But  little  recks  of  vulgar  disrespect 
And  all  the  railings  of  a  world  unkind ; 
They  pass  him  by  e'en  as  the  winter  wind 
Passes  the  towering  ever-verdant  pine. 


Howling  but  harmless ; — from  the  affluent  mine 
Of  his  proud  spirit,  by  still  care  refiued, 
Issue  ethereal  riches — worthier  far 
Than  if  his  earlier  thoughts  had  wrought  him  fame, 
And  all  had  wreathed  with  fragrant  flowers  his  namej 
Triumpliing  thus  o'er  folly's  fools,  his  star 
Gathers  new  glory  and  his  soul  nevv  powers, 
Until  he  revels  in  Fame's  heavenly  bowers. 


*FHZ:  EVEKING  STAR. 

JbiRE  lingering  sunlight  leaves  the  western  sky 
And  mellow  tintings  mingle  with  the  gloom, 
The  crescent  gilds  the  soft  blue  arch  on  high. 
With  beams  that  vseem  in  upper  air  to  bloom. 
And  down  the  cope  of  heaven  afar, 
A  .world  of  beauty,  bliss  and  love. 
Gleams  brightly  forth  the  Evening  Star, 
The  loveliest  light  of  all  the  host  above. 

Cold  searchiiig  science  may  the  spheres  explore. 
And  yon  vast  systems  learnedly  unfold, 
But^- wrapt  in  beauty's  charms,  I  scorn  the  lore, 
And  lightly  all  such  withering  knowledge  hold  ; 


54  iSbrning  S^tar* 

When  fancy  revels  in  the  skies, 
And  rose  wreathed  bowers  are  breathing  balm, 
O  who  would  know  the  mysteries 
Of  heaven — and  all  the  glorious  scene  uncharm  ? 

Let  man,  lone  habitant  of  this  dark  sphere, 
Deem  yon  bright  orbs  the  starry  halls  of  love. 
Where  souls  conj2:enial  meet  that  sorrowed  here, 
And  through  elysian  groves  in  rapture  rove  ! 
Rend  not  away  the  magic  veil 
That  brightens  beauties  seen  afar  ^ 
Belie  not  fancy's  fairy  tale, 
That  sees  a  paradise  in  every  star ! 

Thou  Evening  Star!  o'er  yon  blue  mountain  sinking, 
Thy  radiant  beams  along  the  white  clouds  burn, 
And,  as  I  gaze,  my  wandering  soul  is  thinking 
Of  past  delights  that  never  can  return ; 

Thou  art  a  friend  beloved,  and  long 

I've  told  my  sorrows  all  to  thee, 

For  I,  a  feeling  son  of  song. 
Have  been  the  sport  of  wayward  destiny. 

Oft  on  the  hill-top  'mid  embowering  woods 

I  sit  when  night  relieves  my  heart  from  care, 

A.nd  nothing  sensual  on  my  soul  intrudes, 

\s  in  the  world's  rude  strife  and  day-light's  glare, 

And  watch  thy  light,  sweet  Evening  Star ! 

And  think  how  dear  a  home  thou  art, 

Shrined  in  the  ethereal  sky  afar. 
To  the  sad  spirit  and  the  suffering  heart. 


ISbening  ^tav.  55 

Well  have  the  wild-souled  bards  of  Yemen  deemed 
Thine  orb  the  dwelling  of  tlie  great  and  good, 
Where  Indra's  glory  hath  for  ever  beamed 
Since  from  the  skies  rolled  Ganges*  holy  flood. 
And  'mid  the  Swerga's  hallowed  bowers 
Dwelt  suras  pure  and  glendoveers, 
Happy  as  heaven's  own  living  flowers. 
Unchanging  as  the  lapse  of  endless  years. 

There  pure  ones  dwell,  for  ever  blest — and  there 
Chant  songs,  whos€  music  sometimes  steals  away. 
And  faintly  floats  along  the  moonlight  air. 
Like  the  low  warblings  of  a  seraph's  lay ; 

Around  the  holy  shrine  they  throng 
^   In  sacred  groups,  while  soft  perfume 

Waves  in  the  breath  of  glowing  song^ 
And  soars  to  God,  like  spirits  from  the  tomb. 

Now  in  the  budding  springtime  of  the  year 
Young  hearts  will  blossom  in  the  smiles  of  loves. 
And  soul-lit  eyes,  gem  of  the  starry  sphere ! 
Delight  in  thee  | — lone  wandering  through  the  grove 
Where  fanning  airs  'mid  green  leaves  play. 
Lovers  entranced  gaze  on  thy  beams. 
And  paint  a  paradise  far  away 
Of  groves  and  flowers  and  birds  and  murmuring 
streams. 

And,  oh,  how  lovely  are  their  visions !     Light 
Descends  from  heaven  on  love's  first  blissful  dream, 

F 


56  Mti)olntiom^U 

And  on  the  heart  falls  all  that  meets  the  sight 
In  rainbow  hues  with  ever-varying  gleam. 
If  e'er  on  earth  we  can  define 
The  joys  that  prophets  tell  of  heaven, 
^Tis  when  young  hearts  in  love  divine 
Blend  like  the  blue  and  purple  hues  of  even. 

But  love  is  madness  in  a  world  like  this — 
It  smiles  to  agonize — it  charms  to  slay ! 
Demons  watch  o'er  earth's  holiest  scenes  of  bliss. 
And  laugh  at  sorrow  nothing  can  allay. 

Fame,  knowledge,  wealth  and  pride  and  power. 
And  love  and  joy  are  all  in  vain  5 
They  live  and  bloom  one  little  hour, 
Then  fade  like  Evening's  Star  and  sink  to  pain. 


THE   REVOZiUTIOITZST. 


'^l^HEY  wandered  forth  by  soft  Fluvanna's  stream 
When  o'er  the  twiliglit  heaven  smiled  the  rich  eve 
Of  autumn,  and  the  fleecy  clouds  of  day 
Hung  on  the  pictured  sky  in  fairy  forms 
Of  beauty,  changeful  as  the  sunbow's  tints 
Upon  the  dark  brown  cliff;  and  o'er  the  verge 
Of  the  clear  horizon  the  purple  waves 
Of  light  ebbed  downward  to  eternity ; 


The  balmy  airs  of  that  sweet  season  came 

Like  music  from  the  harp  of  Memnon — faint. 

Low  and  melancholy,  then  scarcely  heard 

Mid  the  dim  groves,  then  quite  inaudible, 

Lulled  into  silence,  like  a  syren  charm ; 

When,  swelling  through  all  harmonies  of  sound, 

Again  they  breathed  through  the  thick  woven  boughs, 

Shook  the  grey  moss  that  hung  in  hoar  festoons 

From  the  high  branches — o'er  Fluvanna's  stream 

Spread  curling  crystal,  tinged  with  evening's  light, 

And  mid  the  wild  flowers  and  the  scented  shrubs 

Made  melancholy  music.     'Twas  the  hour 

Of  starlight  intercourse,  of  whispered  love, 

And  purified  affection,  which  derives 

Its  beauty  from  its  innocence,  and  throws 

The  light  of  Eden's  rosy  bowers  o'er  all 

The  passions  of  our  earth-stained  nature; — 't  was 

The  holy  season  of  the  young  throbbing  heart. 

When  it  dilates  with  those  high  feelings,  born 

In  heaven  and  sent  like  seraphim  below. 

There  is  a  holiness  in  daylight's  close, 

A  pure  enchantment  in  the  twilight  heaven, 

AVhere  beauty  kisses  glory,  and  bright  forms 

Fold  their  sun  pinions  in  the  ethereal  air  ; 

The  bosom  feels  then,  while  it  throbs  for  love. 

And  the  eye  gazes  longingly  on  high. 

How  far  from  heaven  its  passions  and  its  powers 

Tend  mid  the  cold  realities  of  life. 

By  soft  Fluvanna's  stream  they  wandered  on, 
Down  fair  Ligonier's  vale,  where  waters,  woods, 


5s  Utholntioni^U 

And  rich  green  verdure  and  bright  golden  harvests 

Smiled  glowingly,  while  over  all  the  scene 

The  mighty  Allegany  from  on  high 

Looked  like  a  cloud-throned  spirit  o^er  the  world* 

The  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun  illumed 

The  dense  pine  forests  and  the  cliffy  dells, 

And  deep  ravines,  where  torrents,  all  unseen, 

Poured  their  wild  music  on  the  silent  air ; 

And  the  fair  floating  clouds  of  evening  hung 

Upon  the  mountain's  brow,  as  if  to  crown 

Nature's  proud  monarch,  while  their  outskirts  fringed 

His  sides  like  a  broad  mantle  wrought  of  Ind. 

AH  earth  seemed  slumbering  'neath  the  smile  of 

heaven. 
And  the  soft  tendance  of  high  spirits!  peace 
Wavod  her  dove  pinions  in  the  cool  night  air^ 
As  if  the  shout  of  war  had  never  woke 
The  everlasting  echoes  of  those  hills. 
And  surely  peace — the  peace  of  kindling  hearts. 
Devoted  to  each  other,  smiled  upon 
Young  Agnes  and  her  lover;  they  had  been 
Companions  from  their  childhood — wept  and  laughed 
And  played  together  from  their  earliest  years ; 
They  had  gone  hand  in  hand  to  the  green  fields. 
And  holy  temple — side  by  side  had  knelt 
And  w^orshipped  God  more  fondly  that  each  saw 
His  image  in  the  other !  it  w  as  sweet 
To  mark  their  artlessness  of  love  and  hear 
The  converse  of  their  hearts,  while  their  bright  eyes 
Together  read  and  their  fair  faces  jjressed 
Unblushing ;  oh,  if  thou  w  ouldst  image  out 


Heaven  In  thy  fancy,  and  its  holy  loves, 
Observe  two  infants,  cradled  in  one  couch, 
Fed  by  one  hand,  in  thought  and  word  and  deed 
Blent  from  the  dawn  of  being;  then  bright  gleams 
Of  what  pure  spirits  are  spring  forth  and  bloom  ! 
Love  had  become  their  food  of  thought — the  life 
Of  each,  and  it  was  holy,  past  all  fear, 
Or  jealousy  or  passion  ;  for  each  knew 
The  other  faithful  even  Hnto  death, 
And  trusted  ever ;  ah  !  that  such  sweet  love 
Should  lead  but  to  the  grave !  that  life's  best  hopes 
Should  be  wild  meteors,  heralding  despair! 

Not  in  their  wonted  converse  of  light  joy 
They  roamed  along ;  not  with  accustomed  smiles 
Reached  their  vine  arbour  by  Fluvanna  side. 
Each  had  been  silent,  save  in  few  short  words 
Spoken  unwittingly,  as  if  to  shun 
The  burden  of  their  sorrows ;  but  they  came 
At  last  to  the  fresh  verdured  alcove  where 
Thick  trailing  flowers,  o'ergemm'd  with  pearly  dew. 
Hung  blushing  in  perfume,  like  the  past  joys 
Of  loves  more  bright  and  fragrant  than  the  scene. 
Then  tender  words,  and  low  wild  sobs  came  forth. 
And  Agnes  leaned  upon  De  Grammont's  breast. 
And  oft  she  raised  her  tearful  eyes  to  heaven, 
And  called  down  blessings  on  the  warrior ;   then 
She  clung  around  liis  neck,  and  wept  again, 
And  prayed  him  not  to  go  !  The  soldier's  voice 
Faltered,  but  his  proud  spirit  blenched  not — ^^Love  ! 
My  country  calls  me  f  I  should  ill  deserve 
fS 


^0  l$rbolutioni0t# 

Such  love  as  thine,  if  I  should  dare  to  he 
A  craveii  in  the  hour  of  mortal  strife. 
No !  let  me  merit  thee  by  worthy  deeds  !  '^ 
One  wild,  long  kiss — a  hurried,  last  farewell — 
And  Agnes  is  alone!  far  o'er  the  cliffs 
Sound  the  proud  charger's  hoofs  ;  upon  a  height, 
O'erlooking  all  the  vale,  a  horseman  curbs 
His  war-steed  for  a  moment,  and  the  eye 
Of  the  fair  girl  has  caught  his  high  white  plumes^ 
"Waving  aloft !  the  crash  of  parting  boughs 
And  flinty  bridle  path  is  heard  awhile, — 
Then  silence  sinks  on  the  deserted  bower* 

^Tis  night  again — a  lovely  summer  night. 
Lit  by  the  full  fair  moon,  whose  pearly  beams 
Gleam  o'er  the  engirdling  forest,  and  illume 
The  cottage  garden  and  the  willow  grove; 
And  Agnes  has  arisen  to  look  forth 
On  the  still  night — but  not  to  watch  the  charms 
Of  nature ;  she  had  heard  her  grandsire  speak 
De  Grammont's  plaudit  for  high  gallant  deeds,. 
Achieved  in  neighbouring  battles,  and  her  heart 
Beat  prophesy  of  his  return — she  knew 
He  would  not  pass  the  cottage  and  not  see 
His  earliest,  best  love  ;  and  she  had  framed 
A  glorious  welcome  for  her  hero-love. 
She  watched  the  mountain  path  where  he  must  come> 
And  saw  his  form  in  every  shadow  thrown 
Over  the  moonlight  rocks;  she  heard  his  voice 
In  every  bret-ze  Ibr.t  waved  the  midnight  groves. 
Beguiled  for  ever — still  beguiling  1  sound-& 


Kebolutionl^t  ei 

Came  on  her  ear  from  the  far  woods,  and  she 
Shaped  them  into  De  Grammont's  voice,  and  aft 
The  throbbings  of  her  heart  became  to  her 
The  distant  tramp  of  steeds. 

While  thus  she  caught 
The  voice  and  image  of  her  own  fond  heart 
And  wrought  them  into  being,  quick  and  bright 
Beneath  the  willow  grove  a  bayonet  gleamed. 
And,  on  the  instant,  pealed  a  warning  cry — 
*^  Dear  lady,  fly  !  the  Hessians  !''  ere  the  words 
Had  ceased  to  echo,  flashed  the  levelled  gun. 
And  on  the  green  turf  lay  a  bleeding  corse, 
And  the  next  moment  Agnes  backward  fell. 
Rolling  in  blood ;  all  conscious  sense  extinct. 
Strange  sounds  were  in  her  spirit,  sounds  of  wrath 
And  stifled  agony,  and  roaring  fires. 
And  low  death-wailing  and  demoniac  shouts; 
But  nought  distinct — as  in  a  fevered  dream. 
They  floated  by  her,  but  she  knew  them  not. 
She  woke  at  last ;  the  clotted  blood  had  stanched 
Her  wounds,  but  life  was  ebbing  fast  away. 
She  listened — all  was  still ;  and  faint  and  wild 
With  fear,  she  dragged  her  feeble  limbs  along. 
And  reached  the  hall ;  there  by  the  lurid  light 
Of  the  loud  crackling  cottage,  in  his  blood 
Her  slaughtered  grandsire  lay,  and  by  his  side 
His  only  child—  her  only  parent !     There 
The  haughty  Hessian  chief,  with  fiendlike  eye. 
Stood  gazing  in  delight,  and  as  she  strove 
To  pass,  he  seized  her  with  a  ruffian  ^rasp. 


62  Uet^littioni^u 

And  drair^ed  her  onward  ;  but  a  dead,  stiff  weight 
Was  in  his  arms,  for  on  her  face,  amid 
All  mortal  terror,  death  had  fixed  his  seal  j 
And  with  a  demon  look  of  curst  desire. 
He  threw  the  virgin  on  her  mother's  breast. 
*         #         ^         #         #         #         # 

^Tis  morn  upon  the  Alleganean  heights. 
And  bright  its  earliest  rays  flash  o'er  the  arms 
Of  conquering  troops  descending;  loud  and  high 
The  trumpet  wakes  the  echoes  of  the  cliffs. 
And  o'er  their  proud  array  the  banner  waves 
Of  freedom  and  of  valour.     In  the  front 
Careers  a  noble  horseman,  and  a  joy. 
Beyond  e'en  battle's  rapture,  from  his  eyes 
Flashes  exulting  as  he  looks  below. 
*^'Tis  the  grey  mist  that  baffles  me,'^  he  said. 
As  turning  from  the  view,  a  sad,  sick  smile 
Mocked  secret  apprehension.     Now  they  reach 
The  lowest  hill  and  there  he  turns  to  gaze. 
*^  I  cannot  see  the  cottage  !  '*  how  his  heart 
Beat  in  its  strong  convulsions,  as  the  hopes. 
Long  cherished,  of  this  hour  turned  to  despair  I 
In  weaiiness  and  pain,  in  midnight  watch. 
And  midday  battle,  he  had  looked  to  this — 
This  hour  of  recompense—  and  fondly  thought 
That  Agnbs'  smile  would  change  all  woe  to  bliss* 
He  gazed  as  if  his  soul  were  perishing, 
But  the  dark  woods  frowned  in  their  loneliness — 
No  blue  smoke  rose — no  sound  of  life  was  heard ; 
All— all  was  still  and  lone.    How  his  heart  shrunk 
And  trembled  !  but  De  Gkammont  hurried  on^ 
As  if  his  spirit  fled  from  its  own  fears  j 


Xtebolttttoni0t.  €3 

And  he  has  gained  the  cottage — or  the  place 
Where  it  once  stood ;  there  black  and  bloody  ashes, 
And  cindered  bones,  and  broken  brands  and  prints 
Of  the  assassins'  footsteps  gave  dread  note 
Of  the  past  horror;  with  a  frenzied  glare 
Of  agony  unutterable  he  gazed, 
And  wild  convulsions  shook  his  heart ;  then  wrath,. 
Deep,  burnin,e;  wrath,  like  lightning,  from  his  eyes 
Flashed  balefully,  and  from  his  quivering  lips 
Thundered  in  awful  accents — "  Vengeance  ! '^  all 
His  gallant  band  their  voices  raised  on  high. 
And  uttered — ^^  Vengeance ! ''  Allegany  heard. 
And  through  its  wildest  fastnesses  and  clefts 
Pealed — *^  Vengeance !  Vengeance !  *^ 

Long  the  close  pursuit, 
And  patient,  ere  De  Grammont's  soul  had  rest. 
But  vengeance  came  at  lengtli,  and  the  fell  wretch, 
Who  showed  no  mercy,  had  no  mercy  showed. 
Thrice  in  his  heart's  deep  core  his  reeking  blade 
De  Grammont  buried,  and  a  fearful  smile. 
The  last  that  ever  lit  his  features,  came. 
Like  midnight  lightning  o'er  an  open  grave. 
Over  his  face ;  then  forth  he  went  and  fought 
His  country's  battles  witli  a  desperate  wrath, 
That  kept  his  soul  from  madness,  and  achieved 
Immortal  deeds,  which  on  the  hero  brought 
Praises  and  honours. manifold;  but  he 
Recked  not  of  them ;  't  was  Agnes  that  inspired 
The  warrior's  daring,  and  his  heart  knew  not 
A  moment's  rest,  till  ^neath  the  ruin's  dust 
And  ashes,  brave  De  Grammont  slept  in  death  I 


THE   COiraUEROR'S   CHZI.D. 


From  Aroer's  field  of  glory  and  the  towers 
Of  Minnith  smouldering  rnid  blood  and  flame. 
The  conquering  chieftain,  girt  with  all  his  powers, 
In  pomp  of  terror  unto  Mizpeh  carne^ 
Loud  blew  his  war-horn — spears  flashed  gory  red. 
And  the  earth  trembled  ^neath  his  courser's  tread, 

Prond  Ammon  had  been  humbled — far  and  wide 
Dark  Ruin  hovered  o'er  the  unburied  dead ;_ 
The  paynim  foe  had  perished  in  his  pride — 
The  oppressor  slept  on  slaughter's  crimson  bed; 
The  sword  of  God  in  Jephthah's  giant  hand 
Had  left  the  record  of  its  might  o'er  all  the  land. 

Bright  in  the  sun  the  burnished  armour  shone. 

And  blood  stained  sabres  glittered  in  the  air. 

Bearing  true  witness  unto  glory  won 

In  stern  affray — and  every  warrior  there 

Burned  with  that  lofty  spirit  ever  given 

To  them  who  do  the  sovereign  bests  of  heaven. 

The  mighty  chieftain  gloried  in  that  hour. 
And  felt  how  greatness  grows  within  the  heart 

*  See  Judg^es  xi.— 30— 40, 


t)f  him  who  nourishCvS  the  germ  of  power; 
No  pride  of  birth  can  such  high  joy  impart 
As  one  good  deed  by  inborn  valour  wrought — 
Conceived  unaided  in  the  depths  of  thought. 

There  is  no  majesty -but  that  of  mind  ; 
The  purple  robe,  the  sceptre  and  the  crown 
The  rudest  hands  can  fashion ; — as  the  wind, 
The  body's  pomp  the  guiltiest  wretch  may  own; 
But,  like  the  sun  that  burns  from  pole  to  pole, 
O'er  all  creation  reigns  the  godlike  soul. 

So  Jephthah  proved  ;  for  born  in  low  estate. 
And  driven  forth  by  pride  of  place,  he  roved 
Lone  o'er  the  world,  the  sport  of  chance  and  fate, 
Oppressed  and  wronged — unloving  and  unloved; 
Behold  him  now  in  victory's  brightest  van  ! 
His  own  great  spirit  formed  that  mighty  man. 

Let  envy,  hate,  fraud,  falsehood — all  combine 
To  crush  the  spirit  self-sustained — H  is  vain — 
No  human  power  can  blast  a  thing  divine ; 
The  shaft  rebounds — the  ambushed  foe  is  slain, 
E'en  by  his  own  envenomed  weapon — wait, 
0  son  of  grief,  the  thunderbolt  of  Fate  ! 

For  it  will  come  in  wrath — though  long  delayed, 
And  pour  its  sea  of  lightnings  o'er  the  heart 
That  swells  in  festering  pride  o'er  hopes  betrayed, 
Exulting — for  its  doom !  on  thine  own  part 


66  i^r^>Tq^uerot'»  <Ki&iitt» 

Keep  virtue  by  thy  bide — lliine  eye  above— 
And  envy's  scorn  will  thy  true  greatness  prove. 

Be  lord  of  thine  own  spirit,  and  look  down 

On  the  base  scatterling  herd  with  pity's  smile  ; 

So  thou  shalt  keep  the  glory  and  the  crown 

Of  goodness  raised  above  the  reach  of  guile. 

And  feel  that  heavenly  peace  which  o'er  the  breast 

Comes  like  sweet  music  from  the  realms  of  rest. 

Just  cause  had  Gilead's  sons  to  wail  the  hour. 
When,  proud  of  their  inheritance,  they  spurned 
The  bastard  boy  and  mocked  him  in  their  power  5 
Behold  him  now,  in  glory's  front,  returned 
From  exile — bearing  in  his  mighty  hand 
The  sceptre-sword  that  guards  and  rules  the  land  ! 

Ye  little  know,  proud  reptiles  of  a  day ! 
What 't  is  ye  sting  in  your  impotent  spite  ; 
The  giant's  breath  will  blast  you  all  for  aye 
Ere  ye  can  crawl  into  eternal  night; 
Beware  how  ye  would  trample  on  the  mind — 
Vengeance  and  death  and  ruin  are  behind  ! 

Onward  careers  great  Ammon's  victor — he 
Who  long  in  caves  and  foiest  wilds  abode, 
W^eary  and  faint,  the  cWld  of  misery — 
His  only  friend  the  omnipresent  God  ! 
Let  earth  admire  the  wisdom  of  his  trust. 
And  choose  that  faithful  Friend  for  ever  just! 


Oh,  when  the  path  of  life  is  hard  beset, 
And  thy  sick  heart  grows  faint  and  sighs  alone, 
And  all  that  thou  in  the  world's  ways  hast  met 
Have  left  thee  in  affliction's  need  and  gone 
To  revel's  halls  or  beauty's  fairy  bower — 
Go,  seek  a  faithful  friend  in  that  dark  hour! 

And  kneel  down  in  thy  lowliness  and  ask 
His  guidance  through  the  mazes  of  earth's  wo    - 
And  hooded  guilt ;   and  set  thee  to  the  task 
Of  empire  o'er  thyself,  and  thou  wilt  kno\y 
How  passing  great  and  good  thy  God  will  be 
In  life's  worst  ills  and  last  extremity. 

And  do  it  in  thy  youth,  when  the  fresh  spring 
Of  joy  mid  sunny  thoughts  runs  brightly  on, 
And  thy  gay  spirit  soars  on  rainbow  wing 
Through  the  clear  heaven  of  beauty ;  then  alone 
On  thy  heart's  shrine  kneel  humbly  down  and  make 
Thy  vow  to  God,  for  his  and  for  thy  sake. 

And  thou  wilt  feel  the  happier,  though  the  jeer 
And  scoff  of  the  false  world  may  goad  thee  sore; 
Yet  keep  thy  bosom  void  of  care  and  fear — 
Lose  not  that  faith  all  earth  could  not  restore ! 
The  purest  virtues  'neath  the  sky  have  been 
The  sport  of  jest  profane  and  ribaldry  obscene. 

Then  thou  wilt  find  him  true  in  all  his  ways. 
As  to  the  prophets  and  wise  kings  of  yore ; 

G 


L. 


68  eronmtvot'^  ©l^iHr* 

His  smile  will  brighten  sorrow's  darkest  days, 
And  light  with  bloom  death's  vale  and  time's  dark 

shore ; 
In  all  thy  griefs  thou  wilt  know  where  to  go — 
In  all  thy  sickness  and  thy  cares  below. 

The  mighty  victor,  w-ith  his  bright  array 

Of  valiant  warriors,  in  his  glory  goes 

O'er  hill  and  dale,  like  morning's  earliest  ray, 

Now  lost,  now  flashing  through  the  clouds  of  rose, 

Till  Mizpeh  brightens  on  the  lengthening  view — 

Hanging  far  off  on  the  horizon  blue. 

Then  Jephthah's  heart  beat  high  with  pride  of  fame, 
Fame  which  his  wife  and  only  child  would  share — 
Alas!  how  long  that  lovely  daughter's  name 
Will  be  the  watch-word  of  his  heart's  despair  ! 
How  long  rash  vows  and  all  unheedful  words 
Have  broken  human  hearts  and  edged  unsparing 
swords ! 

The  great  have  fallen  from  their  pride  of  place— 
The  good  have  perished  in  an  evil  hour — 
The  lovely  lost  their  beauty's  loveliest  grace — 
And  love  and  pleasure  felt  the  awful  power 
One  moment  wields  o'er  time;  a  word  hath  rent 
Empires  to  atoms,  and  o'er  nations  sent 

Long  bitter  strife  and  misery  and  death  ; 
Through  seas  of  blood,  o'er  hills  of  human  bones, 


While  awful  voices  shrieked  and  wailed  beneath, 
Armies  have  marched  to  death  and  glorious  thrones 
Changed  masters  on  the  instant — how  or  why  ? 
Go,  ask  the  idle  wind  that  murmurs  by ! 

Men  talk  of  glory  and  immortal  fame, 

And  pant  for  honours  and  the  world's  applause, 

As  if  the  glitter  of  a  spangled  name 

Would  win  reversion  of  great  nature's  laws; 

Ah  !  who  can  trust  what  changes  with  a  breath  ? 

Rests  glory's  crown  upon  the  brow  of  death  ? 

Loud  rose  the  shouts  of  triumph  and  of  pride 
O'er  Mizpeh's  plain  and  Gilead's  glittering  heights, 
And  loud  again  the  conqueror's  shouts  replied 
As  o'er  the  hills,  like  storm  clouds'  fitful  lights. 
The  victor-band  rushed  on  in  long  array. 
Loaded  with  spoils  from  Ammon's  fearful  fray. 

Unbounded  joy  filled  every  bosom  then. 
And  mirth's  loud  uproar  through  the  city  poured, 
And  Jephthah  was  the  happiest  of  men — 
The  hero  king,  whose  sceptre  w^as  his  swordj 
And  his  heart  glowed  in  unrestrained  delight 
To  be  thus  welcomed  from  the  glorious  fight. 

\ 
But  mid  his  jubilee  of  fame  and  pride —  \ 

Amid  his  honours  and  his  pomp  of  state, 
A  soft,  sweet  voice  rose  by  the  hero's  side— 
A  voice  more  awful  than  the  shriek  of  Fate; 


^0  g^ott  of  ffieniu** 

*^  Bless  thee,  my  father !  we've  looked  long  for  thee— 
O  welcome  now  ! — thou  dost  not  look  on  me! 

**  Wilt  thou  not  kiss  me,  father  ?  0,  't  is  long 
Since  thou  didst  fold  me  in  thy  dear  embrace  ! 
Come,  father,  come  !  PU  sing  thee  a  sweet  song, 
And  thou  shalt  hear  and  change  that  gloomy  face^ 
Why,  thou  art  very  strange  and  cold  to  me 
Amid  the  glory  of  thy  victory  !  ^' 

^Bought  with  thy  blood,  my  dear,  lost,  only  child !  '^ 
No  more  the  hero's  quivering  lips  could  speak ; 
His  crimson  brow  grew  pale — his  fixed  eye  wild — 
Tears  drow  ned  his  voice — his  mighty  frame  grew 

weak  ; 
The  warrior-chief  of  Ammon's  awful  day 
Sunk  in  his  daughter's  arms  and  sw^ooned  away ! 


THE  soiT  OF  aumus. 


'TwAs  summer  evening  and  the  fair  blue  sky 

In  rosy  beauty  hung  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  to  the  poef  s  visionary  eye 

Burned  with  light  gushing  from  eternity  ; 

The  soft,  sweet  airs  of  heaven  breathed  o  er  his  brow 

As  he  gazed  on  the  lovely  scene  below 


S^on  of  H&tnim.  7i 

His  solitary  chamber — rich  and  bright, 
And  watched  the  mellowing  shadows  as  they  fell 
O'er  flowery  vales  and  green  isles  robed  in  light. 
Till  darkness  dimmed  the  scenes  he  loved  so  well. 

But  vainly  beauty  smiles  when  the  heart  bleeds 

In  silent,  untold  agony  of  wo; 

Nought  of  fair  forms  the  withering  spirit  heeds — 

All  sight  and  sound  is  mockery ;  grief  doth  grow 

Deeper  and  wilder  amid  joy  and  mirth, 

And  sorrow  veils  this  bright  and  lovely  earth 

In  darkness  and  in  dreariness — and  all 

Seems  cold  and  hollow  in  the  ways  of  men  ; 

And  the  dark  spirit  wears  a  living  pall 

Of  deathless  death — it  cannot  smile  again. 

Oh  !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  wear 
A  mirthful  look  that  hides  a  broken  heart? 
How  deep  and  desolate  is  that  despair. 
Which  sickly  smiles  of  forced  delight  impart  ? 
'Tis  awful  misery  to  seem  in  joy ; 
Smiles  on  the  lip — tears  in  the  wandering  eye  ; 
Hope  on  the  brow — despair  within  the  soul ! 
Oh,  why  to  man  are  all  earth^s  sorrows  given— 
The  thousand  woes  that  mock  at  man's  control. 
But  from  earth's  griefs  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  hea- 
ven ? 

The  bright  creations  of  his  soaring  thought 
Had  from  the  young  bard  passed  away,  and  now 
g3 


72  ^on  of  ©irniuft* 

He  wept  o'er  all  his  mighty  mind  had  wrought ; 
And  his  heart's  darkness  gloom'd  along  his  hrow. 
And  fearful  forms  appeared  and  bade  him  look 
Upon  their  ghastly  horrors — and  he  took 
The  terrors  of  their  wild  and  withering  eyes 
F/en  to  his  bosom's  core,  and  o'er  him  came 
That  hollowness  of  sufferance  which  tries 
The  spirit  more  than  rack  or  bickering  flame. 

He  saw  not — heard  not — thought  not  of  the  crowd 
That  passed  him  joyously  on  either  hand ; 
His  spirit  writhed  within  a  shuddering  shroud. 
And  o'er  him  Genius  waved  his  magic  wand. 
(Genius  !  bright  child  of  heaven — a  god  of  earth ! 
Despair  and  Death  for  ever  give  thee  birth; 
Thou  angel  heir  whose  heritage  is  pain  ! 
Whose  rapture,  anguish  and  all  countless  woes; 
"W  hose  only  joy  is  sorrow's  mournful  strain — 
Whose  only  hope  this  being's  early  close !) 

Earth's  charms  availed  not;  sadness  in  him  grew 
Darker  and  deeper  till  it  sunk  in  gloom  ; 
Time  o'er  his  bosom  poured  its  deadly  dew. 
And  Death  called  on  him  from  the  yawning  tomb- 
Stretched  forth  his  skeleton  arm  and  beckoned  on 
The  suffering  soul  whose  meteor  course  was  done — 
Rising  in  glory  and  the  pride  of  fame. 
Soaring  in  beauty  on  its  starry  way, 
Then  bursting  o  er  ti^e  ruio  of  a  name — 
The  glorious  vision  of  a  stormy  day  ! 


Sion  of  <JSeniu»*  ^3 

There  was  no  beauty  in  this  world  to  him — 
No  charm,  no  hope,  no  comfort,  and  he  felt 
Power  from  his  spirit,  vigour  from  each  limb, 
Life  from  his  heart,  departing ;  and  he  knelt 
In  lone  devotion  to  his  God  and  prayed 
That  Fate's  dread  arrow  might  not  be  delayed, 
And  yet  not  pierce  his  bosom  unprepared  ! 
"  Father  !  thou  knowest  all  my  thoughts  and  deeds. 
The  woes  I've  borne  alone—the  woes  Pve  shared— 
And  thou  wilt  purify  the  heart  that  bleeds." 

But  nothing  can  from  human  hearts  expel 

The  fear  of  death — it  is  not  weal  nor  wo. 

That  withers  up  the  spirit,  heaven  nor  hell ; 

It  is  that  awful  void — that  gulf  below 

All  reach  of  thought— that  boundless  depth  of  gloom 

W  hich  hangs  for  ever  o'er  the  oblivious  tomb^ 

No  eye  can  span  it  and  no  thought  unfold — 

Hopes,  fears  and  passions  and  all  human  powers 

Perish  before  the  mystery  untold, 

Searching  in  vain  for  Eden's  holy  bowers. 

And  death  to  him  had  terrors — oh,  it  had 
Terrors  for  thee,  almighty  Son  of  God  ! 
Oft  callous,  fears  are  felt  not  by  the  bad 
At  the  dread  voice  that  summons  to  the  sod; 
The  doubtfulness  of  good  that  virtue  feels 
Oft  o'er  the  heart  in  withering  anguish  steals. 
And  clouds  the  closing  hour  of  sinless  life 
With  fears  that  hardened  guilt  denies;  for,  oh. 


'^^  cSon  of  <ffiettiu0^ 

Goodness  dotli  question  its  own  worth,  thougb  rife 
Witli  all  that  hallows  earth's  intensest  wo. 

The  mournful  bard — life's  best  affections  gone. 
Its  kindly  charities  and  hojies  of  fame, 
Mused  darkly  on  the  ways  of  fate  alone — 
Continual  soi^iows  and  a  blasted  name. 
Till  in  the  pale  light  of  his  bosom's  shrine    . 
Aj)peared  a  form  majestic  and  divine ; 
Mysterious  greatness  gleamed  along  his  brow — 
His  air  breathed  awe — his  voice  was  like  the  sea's  : 
His  eye  illumed  ail  nature  in  its  glow — 
And  thus  he  spake  the  spirit's  mysteries  : — 

^'  Son  of  the  Skies !  thou,  who  dost  oft  commune 
With  the  ethereal  stars  when  sleep  locks  up 
Life's  founts  of  bitterness  in  night's  still  noon  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  always  drink  this  poison  cup 
Of  Wretchedness  allotted  thee  below; 
Thou  wilt  not  always  wear  upon  thy  brow 
The  visible  torture  of  thy  bleeding  heart; 
Thy  sunken  cheek  and  hollow  eye  will  yet 
Smile  ere  thy  spirit  from  the  world  depart, 
And  coming  hours  shall  teach  thee  to  forget. 

'^  Thy  toil  hath  been  for  greatness  and  for  fame. 

And  thou  hast  panted  \\\  the  poisoned  air 

Of  hate  and  envy  to  achieve  a  name 

For  the  fool's  mockery ;  and  thought  and  care, 

And  vigilant  observance  and  much  pain. 

And  watchings  long  thou  could'st  not  bear  again, 


<Son  of  QSitnim.  75 

Have  been  rewarded  by  a  damninj^  curse— 
The  spleen  of  bastard  wit  and  envy's  gall; 
And  low,  base  foes,  whom  fiends  could  make  no  worse. 
Have  shouted  o'er  the  ruins  of  thy  fall. 

^^  One  look  of  thine  could  blast  them  into  death. 

But,  mid  the  locust  plague,  thine  eye  would  tire 

Of  slaying,  and  the  poison  of  their  breath 

Taint  and  obscure  thy  spirit's  holy  fire. 

Pass  o'er  them — stoop  not  to  their  scope — 't  is  vain 

To  battle  with  the  fitchew ;  canst  thou  reign 

And  4)anquet  on  thy  proud  and  just  applause 

Without  the  envenomed  chalice,  that  will  bear 

Death  to  thy  vitals  ?     In  a  lofty  cause 

The  world  will  crown  thee  with  thy  heart's  despair. 

*^  But  should'st  thou  bask  in  glory's  fairest  light. 
Canst  thou  make  league  with  death  to  sound  thy 

praise  ? 
Or  hope  to  hear  amid  sepulchral  night 
The  voice  of  fame  that  charmed  thy  mortal  days  ? 
Can  mouldering  dust  resume  its  form  again. 
Or  thy  soul  hover  o'er  this  realm  of  pain 
To  drink  the  incense  of  a  crowd,  whose  breath, 
Ere  an  hour  wings  its  unreturning  flight. 
May  fan  the  cold,  unearthly  brow  of  death, 
And  all  their  memories  sink  to  endless  night  ? 

"  No  !  glory  unbeheld  is  grief  and  shame— « 
The  spix'it's  power  is  wasted  upon  dust ; 


7^  Son  of  asitnim^ 

Virtue  and  goodness  never  lead  to  fame. 

Nor  breathing  pictures  of  the  wise  and  just. 

Fiends  love  not  what  they  cannot  falsify, 

And  there  are  fiends  who  never  dwelt  on  high. 

Let  Genius  dip  his  pencil  in  the  gloom. 

That  o'er  man's  heart  comes  from  the  depths  of  hell — 

Ages  will  weep  above  his  laurelled  tomb, 

And  immortality  his  triumphs  swell. 

"  Yet  thou  must  soar;  immortal  spirits  wear 
Robes  coloured  in  the  skies — they  cannot  rest 
Mid  earth's  cold  multitudes ;  the  holy  air 
Near  heaven  they  breathe,  and  are  supremely  blest 
When,  the  false  world  and  all  its  woes  forgot, 
They  feel  their  own  divinity  ;  thy  lot. 
Lowly  with  men,  is  holy  and  sublime 
With  angels  and  wingec:  glories  at  the  hour 
Of  inspiration,  when  thy  soul  can  climb 
Heaven's  gate  and  hail  each  spirit  in  his  bower. 

*^Less  for  the  world's  applause,  more  for  thy  own, 

Howe'er,  in  humble  consciousness  of  all 

The  gifts  of  G(iD,  toil  thou  till  crowns  are  won 

Of  virtue  and  of  glory ;  see  thou  fall 

Not  from  the  principles  of  goodness  given 

To  all  earth's  sons  by  kind,  indulgent  heaven  ! 

Despair  not  of  thy  meed  !  though  dark  the  hour 

Of  disappointment,  put  the  armour  on 

Of  faith  and  perseverance,  and  thy  power 

Will  strengthen  still  when  centuries  have  gone." 


Ceased  the  deep  voice — the  ideal  phantom  fled; 

Bat  left  that  comfort  which  reflection  gives 

To  virtue  in  affliction; — well  't  were  said. 

He  lives  to  glory  who  to  goodness  lives. 

O'er  the  young  bard  new  freshened  feelings  rise, 

And  thoughts  of  beauty  beaming  from  the  skies, 

And  gay  hope,  like  a  sunbow,  round  his  heart 

Glitters  and  colours  every  feeling  there, 

And  as  his  dark  and  dreary  thoughts  depart, 

He  feels, — while  heaven  avvaits,  let  none  despair  ! 


THE   PROPHET'S   IAAZiISOZ7.* 


The  apostate  king  of  Israel's  holy  land 

Was  revelling  in  Samaria's  idol  bowsers, 

And  round  him  danced  and  sung  a  harlot  band 

To  soothe  remorseful  sin's  long  lingering  hours  ;-^ 

The  fair  Zidonian  w  andered  through  the  grove. 

The  heathen  queen  of  lawless  faith  and  love. 

There  Ahab  lay,  with  pomp  pavilioned  round, 
Couches  of  gold  and  gorgeous  canopies, 

*And  Elijah,  the  Tishbite,  who  was  of  the  inhabitants  of  Gi- 
lead,  said  unto  Ahab — As  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  Jiveth.  before 
whom  f  stand,  there  shall  not  be  dew  nor  rain  these  years  but 
according  to  my  word. — I.  Kings,  xvii.  1. 


78  l$topfitV^  |HaU0on* 

And  wanton  harps  of  most  melodious  sound, 
And  robes  that  wore  the  rainbow's  minja^Ied  dies; — 
There  nothing  lacked  of  his  luxurious  show 
Save  Gud's  approval  as  he  looked  below. 

There  wreathing  flowers  hung  breathing  rich  per- 
fume, 
And  fragrant  fruit  of  every  form  and  name, 
And  radiant  beauty  in  voluptuous  bloom 
To  Ahab's  bower,  a  willing  victim,  came ; 
Not  unobserved  by  Zidon's  daughter,  who 
Plunged  him  in  crime  and  gloried  in  the  view. 

Yet  oft  amid  the  music  and  the  mirth 
His  dark  brow  quivered  and  his  eye  grew  wild  ; 
Forms  passed  before  him  not  of  mortal  birth, 
And  gleamed  along  his  brain,  and  darkly  smiled 
With  that  prophetic  look  which  probes  and  sears 
The  heart,  and  in  a  moment  does  the  work  of  years* 

Beneath  the  glory  of  his  gorgeous  show 
A  viper  preyed  upon  his  heart,  and  none, 
Save  his  false  queen,  could  soothe  the  awful  wo 
Of  him  who  groaned — a  slave  upon  a  throne ! 
She  o'er  him  held  the  power  of  crime  and  he 
Bowed  shuddering  to  her  bloody  sovereignty. 

Israel's  grey  fathers  by  the  wayside  stood 
Communing  mournfully  on  other  days. 
And  oft  they  saw  the  awful  sign  of  blood 
Shoot  o'er  the  wrathful  sky  its  fiery  rays ; 


And  then  they  looked  toward  the  groves  of  Baal 
And  shrieked  to  see  the  warning  portent  fail. 

But  save  to  eyes  of  faith  no  sign  appeared, 
And  x\hab  revelled  on  in  deadlier  guilt. 
Nor  Syrian  king  nor  slaughtering  angel  feared  j 
And  by  his  side  she  lay  whose  hand  had  spilt 
The  blood  of  God's  high  prophets  and  profaned 
The  temple  where  His  visible  presence  reigned. 

And  each  had  sinned  till  heaven  could  bear  no  morCj 

And  mid  their  wildest  riot,  most  profane, 

A  tall,  majestic  shadow  stood  before 

Their  blasted  eyes— now  downcast  all  in  vain  ; 

The  sable  garb — the  hoary  beard — the  tread. 

Solemn  as  death,  shook  Ahab's  soul  with  dread. 

For  well  he  knew  the  prophet  of  the  Lord, 
And  awfully  he  feared  to  meet  him  there. 
Amid  those  idol  groves  and  bowers  abhorred; 
And  his  heart  quailed  in  horror  and  despair 
When  with  uplifted  eyes  and  hands  outspread, 
The  Seer  of  God  his  awful  message  said : — 

*^  Hear,  rebel  king !  and  thou,  false  heathen,  hear ! 
Thus  saith  the  Lord  and  thus  it  shall  be  done ; 
Oft  o'er  this  land  shall  pass  the  death-winged  year 
Beneath  the  scorchings  of  the  cloudless  sun ; 
ISoY  rain,  nor  dew,  nor  vapour  shall  assuage 
The  burning  heat  in  its  wide- wasting  rage. 

H 


80  iPtoptjere  IWaliison* 

^'  All  streams  shall  vanish  and  all  fountains  dry, 
And  still  the  mighty  sun  shall  burn  and  burn, 
Till  stiffening  lips  can  frame  no  dying  cry — 
Till  withered  hearts  to  cracking  masses  turn — 
And  chords  and  sinews  cleave  unto  the  bone, 
And  the  flesh  shrink  and  harden  into  stone. 

'^Groves,  gardens,  vineyards — all  green  things  shall 

fail. 
And  desolation  reign  o'er  all  the  land ; 
Proud  men — fair  women,  choaking,  ghastly  pale, 
In  vain  shall  struggle  with  impotent  hand 
To  end  their  agonies ;— all  earth  shall  lie 
Blackeningi  n  barrenness  'neath  a  burning  sky. 

*^The  lips  shall  feel  no  moisture  in  the  breath— 
E'en  on  the  corse  the  famished  worm  shall  die. 
And  death  go  slaughtering  o'er  the  wreck  of  death, 
Amid  the  still,  unutterable  agony ; 
The  babe  shall  die — to  the  hot  bosom  pressed — 
Pressing  its  withered  lips  unto  its  mother's  breast. 

^^  The  prince  and  beggar,  and  the  lord  and  slave, 
Shall  writhe  and  agonize  and  gasp  for  breath 
And  perish  side  by  side — and  one  wide  grave. 
The  lake's  exhausted  gurge,  shall  hold  them  ;  Death 
Shall  ride  victorious,  mid  low  girgling  moans. 
To  slaughter  o'er  a  nation's  skeletons.  . 

^^  Amid  the  thick,  intolerable  glare 

A  dull,  dead  sound  shall  murmur  evermore. 


And  flocks  and  herds  pant  in  the  sweltering  air 
And  lie  down  in  the  channel  that  before 
Held  many  waters,  and  devour  the  sand 
That  yet  is  moist.     And  Israel's  sons  shall  stand 

^^  Gazing  until  their  eyes  weep  blood  upon 
Creation's  fiery  furnace  to  behold 
The  beauty  of  a  cloud — there  shall  be  none  ! 
No  more  the  shepherd  need  to  watch  his  fold, 
No  more  the  vintager  his  vines— no  more 
The  merchant  hail  his  vessel  from  the  shore. 

"  Yon  holy  mountains  from  their  cloudy  height 
Shall  w^aft  no  breezes  to  the  burning  vale. 
But  savage  beasts  shall  yell  in  wild  affright 
From  rock  and  cave  till  sense  and  motion  fail, 
And  the  black  leafless  forests  mourn  and«!5igh 
Between  the  dying  earth  and  all -destroying  sky. 

*'Then  thou,  proud  king !  e'en  in  this  idol  grove 
Amid  tliy  host  of  deities  shalt  feel 
The  wrath  of  an  ofiended  God,  and  prove 
His  penal  might ;  here  thou  wilt  pray  and  kneeJ 
E'en  in  the  house  of  Baal— his  house  of  crime— 
And  weary  heaven  for  mercy  in  that  time. 

^'  But  vainly  shalt  thou  ask  it — all  as  vain 

As  God  did  long  beseech  thee  to  return 

And  live — thou  would'st  not  hearken  then — again 

Thou  shalt  not  hear  his  voice !  o'er  thee  shall  bur>  > 


«2  lJt0ton0  of  Uomanct. 

And  thy  idolaters,  his  fiercest  ire 
Till  Israel's  sins  are  purified  by  fire. 

"All  earth  shall  blacken  in  a  sea  of  flame 

Till  years  have  rolled  their  desolating  way»-- 

Till  God  restores  the  glory  of  the  name 

That  Israel  bore  beneath  his  holy  sway ; 

Thus  saith  the  Lord  !  Prepare  to  meet  thy  doom  ! 

For  vengeance  o'er  the  idolatrous  land  will  come !  ^' 

The  prophet  vanished  from  the  monarch's  eye. 
Who  stood  there,  chained  by  agonizing  fear ; 
His  dark  form  towering  on  the  crimson  sky — 
His  voice  still  ringing  in  the  false  king's  ear. 
In  waves  of  purple  flame  sunk  the  hot  sun— 
The  years  of  wrath  and  terror  have  begun. 


viszoxrs  OF  ROM-axjcB. 


"  Ce  I'eure  ou  la  melancholic 
S'asseoit  pensive  et  recueillie 
Aux  bords  silencieux  des  raers, 
Et,  meditant  sur  les  ruines, 
Contemple  aii  penchant  des  colllnes 
Ce  palais,  ces  temples  deserts." 


De  Lamartiiie. 


^Vhen  dark-browed  midnight  o'er  the  slumbering 

world 
Mysterious  shadows  and  bewildering  throws. 


Vi^iom  of  Uomantt.  ss 

a\nd  the  tired  wings  of  human  thought  are  furled. 
And  sleep  descends,  like  dew  upon  the  rose, 
How  full  of  bliss  the  poet's  vigil  hour 
When  o'er  him  elder  Time  hath  magic  power! 

Before  bis  eye  past  ages  stand  revealed 
When  feudal  chiefs  held  lordly  banquettings, 
In  the  spoil  revelling  of  wave  and  field. 
Among  their  vassal  serfs  unquestioned  kings : 
While  honoured  minstrels  round  the  ample  board 
The  lays  of  love  or  songs  of  battle  poured. 

Mid  loud  wassail  and  quaint  legend  and  jest, 
The  horn-rimmed  goblet,  pledge  of  heart  and  hand^ 
To  knightly  lips  in  solemn  faith  is  pressed. 
And  rose-lipped  mirth  waits  on  the  warrior-band. 
To  whom  the  brand  and  cup  alike  are  dear, 
The  storm  of  battle  and  the  banquet's  cheer. 

Throned  on  his  dais^  the  proud  sux>erain  looked  o'er 
The  lengthening  lines  of  haughty  barons  there. 
And  listened  to  the  minstrel's  rhythmic  lore. 
Or  boon  accorded  to  the  suppliant's  prayer. 
Or  planned  the  chase  through  wood  and  mountain 

dell. 
Or  roused  his  guests  by  feuds  remembered  well. 

The  dinted  helmet,  with  its  broken  crest. 

The  serried  sabre  and  the  shattered  shield 

Hung  round  the  wainscoat  dark  and  well  expressed 


u  Vi^ioM  of  l^omancr. 

That  wild,  fierce  pride  which  scorned  unscathed  to 

yield  ; 
And  pictures  there  with  dusky  glory  rife 
From  age  to  age  bore  down  stern  characters  of  strife. 

Amid  long  lines  of  glorious  ancestry, 

Whose  eyes  flashed   o'er  them  from  the  old  grey 

walls, 
What  craven  quails  at  danger^s  lightning  eye  ? 
What  warrior  blenches  when  his  brother  falls  ? 
Bear  witness,  Crescy  and  red  Agincourt ! 
Bosworth  and  Bannockburn  and  Marston  Moor ! 

The  long  lone  corridors— the  antlered  hall — 
The  massive  walls — the  all-commanding  towers— 
Where  revel  reigned  and  masquerading  ball. 
And  beauty  won  stern  warriors  to  her  bowers — 
In  ancient  grandeur  o'er  the  spirit  move 
With  all  their  forms  of  chivalry  and  love. 

The  voice  of  centuries  bursts  upon  the  soul — 
Long-buried  ages  wake  and  live  again — 
Past  feats  of  fame  and  deeds  of  glory  roll. 
Achieved  for  ladye-love  in  knighthood's  reign  | 
And  all  the  simple  state  of  olden  Time 
Assumes  a  garb  majestic  and  sublime. 

The  steel-clad  champion  on  his  vaulting  steed. 
The  mitred  primate,  and  the  Norman  lord, 
The  peerless  maid  awarding  valour's  meed. 
And  the  meek  vestal  who  her  God  adored — 


Vi#ione  of  Uommtt.  85 

The  pride,  the  pomp,  the  power  and  charm  of  earth 
From  Fancy's  dome  of  living  thought  come  forth. 

The  sacred  oriflamme  m  war's  red  tide 
Waves  mid  the  shivering  shock  of  lance  and  brand. 
And  trump-like  voices  burst  in  shouts  of  pride 
O'er  foes  whose  blood  hath  stained  the  wasted  land 
Hark !  through  the  convent-shades  triumphal  songs 
Lo !  the  rich  shrine !— thus  saints  avenge  our  wrongs 

0*er  kneeling  penitents  at  the  abbey's  shrine 
Absolving  voices  speak  God's  benison, 
And  lonely  cloisters  echo  prayers  divine 
From  many  a  holy,  world- forsaking  nun, 
Before  the  image  of  the  Crucified 
Bowed  in  prostration  of  all  worldly  pride. 

The  pale-browed  vestal  and  the  dark-stoled  friar. 
The  prayerful  monk  whose  heart  is  in  his  grave. 
Raise  their  low^  voices  in  the  holy  choir, 
While  in  response  the  mournful  yew-trees  wave ; 
And  through  the  cloisters  and  lone  aisles  they  sigh 
That  hope  smiles  not  for  them  beneath  the  sky* 

Beyond  the  holy  walls  stern  warriors  sleep 
Who  gloried  in  their  high-born  ancientry  ; 
Whose  war-steeds  erst  in  many  a  desperate  leap 
O'er  lance  and  spear  w^ent  on  right  gloriously — 
Carved  on  the  tombstone  rests  the  brave  knight's 

form — 
Where  is  the  knight?  Ask  not  the  battening  worm 


«6  Viuom  of  Uommte. 

The  feast  is  o'er,  the  huntsman's  course  is  done, 
The  trump  of  war — the  shrill  horn  sounds  no  more — 
The  heroic  revellers  from  the  hall  have  gone — 
The  lone  blast  moans  the  ruined  castle  o'er ! 
The  spell  of  beauty  and  the  pride  of  power 
Have  passed  for  ever  from  the  feudal  tower. 

No  more  the  drawbridge  echoes  to  the  tread 

Of  visored  knight  o'ercanopied  with  gold  ; 

O'er  mouldering  gates  and  crumbling  archways 

spread, 
Dark  ivy  waves  in  many  a  mazy  fold. 
Where  chiefs  flashed  vengeance  from  their  lightning 

glance. 
And  grasped  the  brand  and  couched  the  conquering 

lance. 

But  all  hath  not  in  silence  perished  here— 

The  deep,  still  voice  of  lost  power  will  be  heard ; 

Mysterious  spectres  in  the  gloom  appear 

As  still  in  death  they  would  be  shunned  and  feared  j 

All  is  not  lost — the  bright  electric  air 

Glows  with  the  spirits  of  the  great  that  were ! 

One  generation  from  another  draws 

Greatness  and  glory  adding  to  its  own  ; 

It  breathes  the  spirit  of  the  primal  laws. 

And  makes  the  heart  a  freeborn  nation's  throne; 

Time  treads  in  dust  earth's  highest  pride  and  fame, 

But  thoughts  of  power  for  ever  are  the  same. 


Ui0ion»  of  Uommtt,  87 

Oh  !  who  so  weak  as  ponder  on  the  tomb  ? 

The  dead  are  nothing ! — drink  the  mountain  breeze 

Or  roam  o'er  ruins  wrapt  in  ages'  gloom — 

And  hoard  thou  well  Earth's  silent  mysteries  ; 

The  past  is  written  in  the  lightning's  glare 

To  bid  the  Future  for  its  doom  prepare. 

The  gorgeous  pageantry  of  times  gone  by — 
The  tilt,  the  tournament,  the  vaulted  hall, 
Fades  in  its  glory  on  the  spirit's  eye. 
And  fancy's  bright  and  gay  creations— all 
Sink  into  dust  when  reason's  searching  glance 
Unmasks  the  age  of  knighthood  and  romance. 

For  fatal  feuds  from  unknown  sources  sprung,  • 
Raged  unrepressed  and  unappeased  by  tears ; 
And  (shame  to  tell !)  the  royal  minstrels  sung 
Oppression's  poean  in  those  darkened  years ; 
Then  empire  hung  upon  the  arm  of  power. 
And  fate  frowned  o'er  the  dark  embattled  tower* 

Like  lightning  lingering  on  the  sable  cloud,   ^ 
Their  glories  flash  and  dazzle  but  to  slay; 
A  warning  light — a  flame  engirdled  shroud 
Amid  the  o'erwhelming  tempest's  black  array ! 
The  days  of  chivalry  may  yet  return. 
But  may  their  glories  gleam  upon  my  urn  ! 


THZ:   SURPRZSAXi** 


From  Gibeah's  tower,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 

The  warder  looked  afar, 
And  he  saw  through  the  mist  strange  disarray 

In  the  foemen's  ranks  of  war ; 
The  deep  earth  shook  and  the  twilight  air 

With  a  thousand  voices  rung, 
And  a  death-wail  rose  of  wild  despair 

Where  the  foe  to  battle  sprung. 

In  the  mountain-pass  tall  shadowy  forms 

Reeled  madly  to  and  fro, 
Like  the  rage  and  shock  of  Alpine  storms 

From  the  Jungfrau's  snowy  brow ; 
And  the  shivering  spear  and  clashing  sword 

Showed  where  the  giants  fell. 
Before  the  wrath  of  IsraePs  lord, 

Down  the  dark  and  gory  dell. 

From  his  fitful  sleep,  with  a  start  of  fear, 
^Neath  the  great  pomegranate  tree, 

King  Saul  leapt  up,  and  he  grasped  his  spear. 
And  listened  breathlessly  j— 

•  See  I.  Samuel,  xiv. 


^^  Whence  come  those  war-cries  V^  Louder  now 
Peal  mingled  shouts  and  screams, 

And  the  fire  of  death  o'er  Seneh's  brow- 
In  lurid  grandeur  gleams. 

**  This  morning  broke  on  a  mailed  host, 

In  vast  and  haught  array ; 
Like  Egypt's  throng  on  the  Red  Sea's  coast. 

They  have  melted  all  away  ! 
With  the  speed  of  Fate  count  o'er  my  band  " — 

**  My  liege,  your  will  is  done." 
"  The  foeman  flies  from  his  proud  command  '* — 

"  Before  your  gallant  son.'' 

^^  Lo  !  Judah's  prince  on  the  beetling  rock 

O'erthrows  his  giant  foe. 
And  he  hurls  him  down,  with  a  stunning  shock. 

O'er  the  gory  ridge  below  ! 
God  shield  hini  now ! "  and  the  army  stood 

In  fixed  and  wild  amaze. 
While  the  warrior  prince  through  waves  of  blood 

Went  on  in  glory's  blaze. 

"  The  ark  of  God  ! "  at  that  awful  cry 

The  w^arriors  knelt  and  prayed — 
Then  their  onset  shouts  rolled  o'er  the  sky. 

And  they  rushed  on  undismayed ; 
In  the  arrowy  van,  with  a  wrathful  brow. 

King  Saul,  like  a  storm,  passed  by. 
And  his  iron  heel  tramped  o'er  his  foe. 

Unheard  his  dying  cry. 


9Q  Uttjelle* 

A  thousand  swords  and  a  thousand  spears 

Are  flashing  far  and  wide, 
And  the  heathen  host  aye  disappears 

Before  high  Judah's  pride  ; 
Through  the  livelong  day  the  foemen  fled, 

And  the  victor  prince  pursued. 
Till  in  Beth-aven,  among  the  dead, 

At  eve  the  conqueror  stood. 


TO  I.T7ZZ:i.Z.E. 


If  your  soul  were  in  my  soul's  stead, 
I  would  not  blame*  but  weep  with  thee, 
And  every  hope  and  pleasure  fled 
Should  be  revived  by  sympathy ; 
I  could  not  smile  amid  thy  tears, 
Nor  feel  a  joy  when  wo  was  thine— 
But  thou  canst  mock  my  darkest  fears. 
And  laugh  at  sorrow  when  't  is  mine* 

Illusion  may  uphold  belief 

That  this  false  world  is  kind  and  true. 

And  thou  may'st  smile  at  withering  grief 

Who  never  felt  its  deadly  dew ; 

And  I  can  bear  thy  wildest  mirth. 

Though  my  cold  heart  entombs  tke  dead — 


But  dark  would  seem  tliis  joyous  earth. 
If  your  soul  were  in  my  30uPs  stead. 

Time  was  when  life  looked  gay  and  bright. 
And  this  world  full  of  bowers  of  love ; 
When  sunny  day  and  starry  night 
Below  smiled  as  they  gmile  above ; 
Then  grief  was  but  a  strange,  sad  name. 
And  mournful  looks  the  theme  of  jest — 
Then  hope  was  bliss,  and  love  was  fame. 
And  but  to  breathe  was  to  be  blest. 

But  now — my  eye  hath  lost  its  fire. 
My  soul  its  mirth,  my  heart  its  bloom, 
And  all  that's  left  me  is  my  lyre, 
And  a  stern  pride,  dark  as  the  tomb ; 
Yet  I  can  bear  thy  laugh  and  mirth. 
And  blame  thee  not,  though  hope  hath  fled — 
For  darker  yet  would  seem  this  earth, 
If  ^our  soul  were  in  my  soul's  stead ! 


THE   BTTBIAX.   OF   ABEI.MIZRAZM.'^ 


^'  Rest,  reverend  patriarch  !  in  thy  last  reposej 
And  soft  and  holy  be  thy  blessed  sleep ! 
O'er  thy  loved  form  the  vaulted  tomb  we  close — 
O'er  thee  we  bend  and  feej  it  bliss  to  weep. 

*  See  Genesis,  ch.  h- 


92  iSuvial  of  ^fieltni^ratim 

Rest,  Father,  rest  beyond  the  woes  of  earth ! 
Seraphic  spirits  hail  thy  heavenly  birth  ! 

"Great  honoured  chief!  from  Egypt's  throne  we 

come 
To  render  reverence  to  thy  mighty  son. 
And  bear  with  homage  to  the  sacred  tomb 
His  sire  who  stands  by  Pharaoh's  godlike  throne ; 
Rest  in  the  fulness  of  thy  years  and  fame, 
O  ancient  chief!  and  honoured  be  thy  name ! 

*^  Sleep  mid  the  fragrance  of  thy  virtuous  deeds, 
And  may  thy  spirit  breath  thy  heart's  perfume ! 
While  thus  1  kiss  thy  brow,  my  bosom  bleeds — 
0  that  I  could  sleep  with  thee  in  the  tomb ! 
Rest,  Father,  rest  among  thine  honoured  race  ! 
Thy  lost  son  bears  thee  to  thy  dwelling-place !'' 

Such  were  the  sounds  from  Atad's  tented  plain, 
That  warned  the  nations  Israel  was  no  more ;     . 
Low  murmuring  Jordan  listened  to  the  strain, 
And  sighed  the  notes  along  his  pebbled  shore. 
And  Hebron  heard  and  echoed  down  her  vale 
The  long,  the  deep,  the  mournful  funeral  wail. 

The  voice  of  death  went  forth  o'er  Edom's  land. 
And  Seir  bewailed  in  solemn  unison ; 
E'en  misbelievers  round  Machpelah  stand 
And  mourn  the  patriarch  and  the  prophet  gone, 
"While  on  her  pillar  Israel's  earliest  love 
Stands,  welcoming  his  spirit's  flight  above. 


Lo !  where  they  move  in  lengthenimg  march  and  slow, 
The  choicest  pride  and  pomp  of  Egypt's  throne  j 
Their  golden  chariots  in  the  bright  sun  glow — 
Their  chargers  move  in  mournful  grandeur  on; 
Rich  purple  robes,  with  grief's  insignia  bound. 
Throw  rainbow  colours  on  the  fresh  air  round. 

The  long  dependent  line,  that  comes  and  comes. 
Still  lengthening,  as  it  moves,  on  either  side ; 
The  princely  state,  that  all  the  scene  illumes— 
The  eloquent  still  grief — the  solemn  pride — 
All — all  proclaim  a  great,  good  man  hath  gone, 
And  left  no  peer  to  do  as  he  hath  done. 

Mark  him,  the  foremost  of  the  long  array. 

The  mightiest  prince  that  roams  the  banks  of  Nile ! 

His  heart  is  sad — his  soul  is  dark  to-day — 

His  fixed  and  thoughtful  eye  betrays  no  smile  j 

Amid  his  pomp  and  majesty  he  seems 

Lost  in  the  mazes  of  dark  memory's  dreams. 

And  well  he  may  be — 't  is  the  dreaming  boy, 
The  son  of  Israel's  age — the  lovely  one  ! 
And  here  he  breathes  again  his  native  sky, 
The  lord  of  Egypt's  lords; — and  one  alone 
In  the  wide  world  bears  loftier  rule  than  he, 
The  shepherd-boy — the  slave  of  treachery  ! 

Again  he  sees  the  vales  of  Shechem  spread 
Their  bright  rich  verdure,  and  the  lovely  plains 


94  isurial  of  ^ttlmmaim. 

Of  Dothan,  dotted  with  white  flocks — and  red 
The  vintage  opes  around  its  swollen  veins, 
The  same  as  when  he  took  his  lonely  way 
To  seek  his  brethren — and  now  where  are  they  r 

Around  him  rise  familiar  scenes,  and  well 
Remembrance  keeps  his  ancient  love  for  them ; 
E'en  to  the  erring  wanderer  he  could  tell 
Each  spot  from  Hebron's  vale  to  Bethlehem  ; 
There  his  mad  brethren  mocked  his  misery — 
Here  bound  and  sold  him— and  now  where  is  he  ? 

Again  he  hears  the  cruel  taunt  and  jest — 

Again  he  sees  the  Ishmeelitan  band  ; 

His  spirit  shudders  e'en  to  dream  the  rest — 

The  toilsome  journey  and  the  foreign  land  ^ 

Dark  o'er  his  thought  the  gathering  shadows  come^ 

Like  wild,  gaunt  spectres  from  the  haunted  tomb. 

But  in  a  pure  and  lofty  mind  the  fell 

Revenge  of  grovelling  spirits  may  not  rest ; 

As  well  might  passions,  born  and  nursed  in  hell. 

Riot  and  rage  in  Gabriel's  holy  breast ; 

Lo  !  as  the  past  rolls  o'er  his  thoughtful  mind. 

He  turns  and  smiles  on  Israel's  sons  behind. 

And,  oh,  that  smile  of  all-forgiving  love 
Sunk  like  an  arrow  in  each  guilty  soul ; 
*Tis  passing  anguish — more  than  death  to  prove 
Affection  breaking  through  the  world's  control  ; 


i&nvial  Of  ^ttlmi^vaim^  95 

So  righteous  heaven  turns  on  the  envious  heart 
The  keenest  edge  of  hate's  envenomed  dart. 

The  pardoning  spirit  conquers  every  wrong, 
And  from  worst  ill  draws  everlasting  good; 
Wretched  he  lives  and  dies  in  shame,  who  ioMg 
O'er  dark  revenge  and  penal  fate  doth  brood  j 
The  almighty  arm,  the  Almighty  One  hath  said. 
Alone  must  vengeance  on  the  oppressor  shed. 

As  onward  rolled  the  solemn  burial  train 
Through  Hebron's  vale — his  childhood's  home— how 

sweet 
Seemed  to  the  prince  those  bowers  of  love  again 
Where  erst  a  father's  smile  he  used  to  meet, 
Whene'er  he  came  at  evening  from  the  field. 
And  sadly  deeds  of  dark  import  revealed ! 

How  fondly  through  decay  he  traced  the  scene 
Of  many  a  happy  hour  and  innocent. 
When,  his  heart  gay  and  as  the  sky  serene, 
From  Israel's  smile  to  God's  he  came  and  went* 
Of  both  alike  the  love !  and,  oh,  how  fair 
The  far  blue  hills  hung  on  the  misty  air  ! 

Then,  as  he  looked  and  sighed  o'er  happier  hours. 
His  musings  caught  a  darker  hue,  and  turned 
To  Israel  wandering  through  his  silent  bowers 
In  desolate  grief — yes,  here  he  wept  and  mourned 
For  h's  lost  son — for  Rachel's  lovely  child, 
Year  after  year  till  agony  grew  wild, 
iS 


96  ^nvial  of  afielmi^taim. 

None  now  were  left  the  good  old  man  could  love 
As  virtuous  fathers  love  their  oflFspring — save 
His  youngest  born,  and  he  could  never  move 
The  heart  that  slumbered  in  his  brother's  grave. 
Whene'er  it  ceased  to  bleed — except  when  heaven 
Revealed  a  hope  by  earth  no  longer  given* 

He  put  on  sackcloth  and  denied  the  poor 
And  worn-out  words  of  comfort  all  could  give ; 
They  could  not  to  his  heart  his  son  restore. 
And  he  in  mourning  for  the  lost  would  live— 
Oh>  Israel's  sons  had  hearts  from  out  the  rock — 
Nature  could  not  abide  such  sorrow's  shock ! 

How  could  the  traitors  to  a  father^s  heart 
Meet  the  wild  eye  whose  light  dissolved  in  tears  ? 
Or  how  their  tale  of  tissued  lies  impart 
To  a  soul  darkened  by  the  storms  of  years? 
All  but  a  father,  who  in  love  must  dote. 
Might  have  seen  treachery  on  the  bloody  coat. 

But  he,  alas!  too  true  to  doubt  the  oath 

Of  them  whose  minds  beneath  his  eye  had  grown. 

Believed  as  virtue  smooth  vice  ever  doth. 

And  mourned  in  silence,  friendless  and  alone; 

While  the  twin-robbers  led  their  brethren  forth 

To  deeds  that  stained  the  young,  the  blooming  earths 

The  prince  wept  bitterly  as  thus  he  drew 
Affection's  dark  portrait  of  lonely  wo, 
And  memory  sketched  in  sorrow's  sable  hue 
The  blight  of  hope  his  sire  was  doomed  to  know. 


ISuttal  of  ^ttlmi)vaimi  9? 

While  he,  the  Hebrew  boy,  through  trials  bore 
True  faith  and  worship  to  a  heathen  shores 

The  mighty  lord  of  Egypt's  garden-land 

Could  bear  no  more ;  upon  the  solemn  bier 

He  fixed  his  eye  and  leaned  upon  his  hand. 

Like  one  whose  soul  seeks  heaven's  high  holy  sphere. 

Till  paused  his  chariot  at  the  house  of  death, 

Machpelah's  cave — the  burial-field  of  Heth. 

There  the  great  father  of  the  faithful  slept. 
His  youth's  first  love  reposing  by  his  side ; 
And  there  the  sire  of  countless  nations  kept 
Eternal  watches  o'er  his  beauteous  bride  ; 
There  Laban's  daughter  slumbered  with  the  dead. 
And  there  doth  Israel  lay  his  reverend  head. 

With  solemn  rite  and  ceremonial  due 

They  lay  the  patriarch  on  his  last  cold  bed, 

And  o'er  him  myrrh  and  balm  and  spicery  strew. 

And  flowers,  bright  as  his  deeds,  sweet  perfume  shed; 

There  let  him  sleep  for  ever  undecayed ! 

The  prince  kneeled  down  and  to  Jehovah  prayed. 

He  rose  and  gazed  on  Israel's  pallid  brow. 

And  sighed  and  turned — and  turned  and  looked  once 

more, 
Then  from  the  cave,  with  mournful  step  and  slow, 
Went  forth  and  sealed  the  sacred  temple's  door. 
Far  on  tlieir  way  to  Egypt's  land  the  bright 
And  solemn  train  shed  lengthening  lines  of  light* 


THE   ZiAV   OF  THB  COZiOKIST. 


On  the  rude  threshold  of  his  woodland  cot. 
When  the  sun  turned  the  western  sky  to  gold, 
Wrapt  in  dark  musings  on  his  wayward  lot, 
And  joys  long  past  that  o'er  his  spirit  rolled. 
Stern  in  his  faith,  though  sorrow  marked  his  mein, 
The  exile  stood — the  genius  of  the  scene  ! 

Unbounded,  solitary,  dark  and  deep, 
The  mountain  forests  lowered  around  and  threw 
Their  solemn  shadows  o'er  the  craggy  steep. 
Where  human  foot  had  never  brushed  the  dew ; 
And  through  the  tangled  maze  of  wildwoods  run 
Streams,  whose  long  waves  ne'er  glittered  in  the  sun. 

O'er  the  vast  sea  of  foliage  vari-hued 

No  wreathing  smoke  from  distant  cottage  rose; 

No  well-known  voice  came  singing  thro'  the  wood-— 

No  form  beloved  tracked  o'er  the  winter  snows. 

Or  sunny  summer  hillside,  glad  to  seek 

And  find  a  friend  to  cheer  him  once  a- week. 

Unbroken  there  was  life's  lone  sleep,  save  when 
The  moose  or  panther  yelled  along  his  way. 
Or  the  wolf  prowled  and  ravined  through  the  glen. 
Or,  high  in  air,  the  eagle  screamed  for  prey  j 


Hag  of  tfit  atoloni0t  99 

The  Indian's  arrow  had  a  noiseless  flight, 
More  dark  and  deadly  than  a  monarch's  might. 

Oft  lonely  barrows  on  the  woody  plain 
Alone  revealed  that  mortal  things  had  been ; 
That  here  red  warriors,  in  their  slaughter  slain. 
Reposed  in  glory  on  the  conquering  scene 
Of  their  high  valour — and  their  hard  won  fame 
Hath  left  them  not  on  earth  a  record — or  a  name. 

But  soon  the  whirring  arrow,  stained  with  blood. 
Gave  fearful  warning  vengeance  slept  not  here — 
That  he,  who  threaded  thus  the  mazy  wood. 
And  slew  far-off*  the  wild  and  timorous  deer. 
Had  darts  within  his  quiver  stored  to  bear 
Death  to  the  white  man  through  the  noiseless  air. 

Mid  the  dense  gloom  of  nature's  forest- woof 
The  exile  stood,  who  erst  with  lords  abode ; 
Rude  was  the  cottage  with  its  leaf-thatched  roof, 
Where  dwelt  the  puritan— alone  with  God  ; — 
There  terror  oft  through  nights  of  cold  unrest 
Counted  the  pulse  of  many  a  trembling  breast. 

In  the  vast  wilderness,  afar  removed 

From  scenes  more  dear  than  happy  hearts  can  tell^ 

Torn  from  the  bosoms  of  the  friends  he  loved 

Too  fervently  to  bid  a  last  farewell ; 

Here,  at  the  hour  when  hearts  breathe   ar  away 

Their  music — thus  the  exile  poured  his  lay  : — 


100  liay  of  m  croloni^n 

^^ Mysterious  are  thy  ways,  Almighty  One! 
And  dark  the  shades  that  veil  thy  throne  of  light. 
But  still  to  thee  we  bow — thy  will  be  done — 
For  human  pride  leaves  erring  man  in  night; 
To  thee  we  make  our  still  and  solemn  prayer — 
Be  thou  our  Sun  and  every  scene  is  fair ! 

*^  When  from  oppression,  crowned  and  mitred.  Lord ! 
We  fled — a  faint  band — o'er  the  Atlantic  main, 
Thou  wert  our  refuge— thou,  our  shield  and  sword — ' 
Our  light  in  gloom — our  comforter  in  pain  ; 
Thy  smile  beamed  brighter  on  our  woodland  shed 
Than  all  earth's  glory  on  a  regal  head. 

^*  And  oft,  amid  the  darkness  and  the  fears 

Of  them  thy  goodness  gave  to  share  my  lot, 

ThoH  hast  in  mercy  listened  to  the  tears 

Of  love  and  innocence  in  this  rude  cot, 

And  filled  pale  lips  with  bread,  and  the  raised  arm 

Of  murder  palsied  ere  its  wrath  could  harm. 

^^  When  through  the  unbarred  window  on  our  bed 
The  famishing  bear  hath  looked — or  to  our  hearth 
The  tyger  sprung  to  tear  the  babe — or  red 
The  hatchet  gleamed  along  the  glade,  on  earth, 
Ev'n  as  in  Eden,  thou  hast  walked  in  power, 
And  saved  us  in  the  dark  and  trying  hour. 

*^  When,  gathered  round  the  winter  fire,  whose  flames 
The  cold  gale,  howling  through  the  cottage,  fanned. 


Hap  of  tftt  croloni0t  101 

We  talked  o'er  distant  loved  and  honoured  names. 
And  siglied  when  thinking  of  our  native  land, 
Thy  still,  small  voice  was  heard — ^  The  same  God 

here 
Beholds  thee  as  thy  friends  beloved  and  dear.' 

"Thus  hast  thou  been  our  comfort-— thou,  for  whom 
We  left  the  land — loved  land  !  that  gave  us  birth. 
And  sought  these  shores  of  savageness  and  gloom, 
Cold,  faint  and  sick—the  exiles  of  the  earth  ! 
We  heard  thy  summons.  Lord  !  and  here  we  are. 
Near  to  thy  love — from  earthly  IdVes  afar ! 

**  Softly  beneath  thine  all-protecting  smile 
Hath  been  our  sleep  in  perils  dire— and  on 
The  stormy  waters  and  the  rugged  soil 
Thy  blessing  hath  descended,  and  thy  sun 
Hath  unto  us  such  gladdening  harvests  givjen 
As  erst  came  down  on  Zin  from  pitying  heaven. 

**  Narrow  and  dark  through  this  continuous  shade 
Our  winding  paths  o'er  cliffs  and  moors  must  be ; 
But  bright  with  verdure  is  our  lovely  glade. 
Bright  as  our  love  and  sweet  as  piety; 
And  here,  though  danger  point  the  poisoned  dart. 
We  wear  a  charm,  true  faith,  within  the  heart. 

"  The  radiant  sun,  thy  glorious  work,  O  Lord  ! 
Fades  from  the  west  and  lights  the  moon  on  high ; 
As  they  who  trust  in  thy  most  holy  word, 
Catch  light  and  glory  from  the  blessed  sky ; 


102  pjour  of  Seattle 

And  even  here  amid  the  forest's  gloom 

Life's  darkest  hours  thy  smile  can  e'er  illume." 

The  exile  turned  and  entered  to  his  home, 

Blest  with  tlie  view  his  pious  soul  had  caught 

Of  heaven's  mysterious  ways — and  o'er  him  come, 

As  through  his  mind  roll  living  streams  of  thought. 

Such  gleams  of  Joy  as  ever  must  arise 

From  his  pure  heart  who  worships  at  the  skies. 

Irreverent  sons  of  Plymouth's  pilgrim  hand ! 
Approach  not  them  ye  will  not  to  revere ! 
The  wandering  fathers  of  this  mighty  land 
Contemplate  thou  with  reverence  and  fear. 
Heir  of  the  Faithful !  let  thy  bosom  take 
The  faith  that  dared  the  exile  and  the  stake ! 


THE  HOUR  OF  DEATH. 


Whene'er  in  solemn  meditative  mood 
I  roam  alone  o'er  nature's  fair  domain. 
Or  'mid  the  shadowy  stillness  of  the  wood. 
Or  o'er  the  shell-strewn  beach  of  the  bright  main. 
Or  the  green  waving  upland  lawn, 
Where  pearly  dew-drops  gem  the  flowers, 
And  summer  smiles  at  rosy  dawn. 
Like  memory  o'er  unsinning  hours, 


I^mir  of  B$s^t%  103 

I  often  think  that  soon  the  time  must  come, 
When  I  shall  change  this  fair  world  for  the  tomb. 

I  think—and  sorrow  steals  a  tear  the  while — 
That  spring  will  perfume  all  the  inspiring  air, 
And  summer  suns  o'er  lovely  landscapes  smile. 
And  autumn  heaven's  own  garb  of  glory  wear; 
That  silver  voices,  fond  and  sweet. 
Will  mingle  in  devoted  love. 
And  happy  youths  and  maidens  meet, 
Where  now  with  mournful  steps  I  rove; 
But  when  bright  flowers  and  suns  and  fields  are  gay. 
Where  shall  I  be  ! — where  will  my  footsteps  stray  2 

The  glorious  sun  in  radiant  heaven  will  rise. 
And  soft  voiced  birds  amid  the  roselight  sing; 
The  mellow  moon  will  shine  in  bright  blue  skies. 
And  groves  breathe  music  o'er  the  gushing  spring ; 
But  where  will  be  the  lonely  one, 
Who  swept  his  lyre  in  wayward  mood. 
And  sighed  and  sung  and  wept  alone 
In  holy  nature's  solitude? 
Where  shall  I  be  when  other  bards  are  seen 
Wandering  in  reverie  where  I  oft  have  been  ? 

The  paths  I've  worn — a  stranger's  foot  will  tread — 
The  trees  I've  reared — will  yield  no  fruit  to  me — 
The  flowers  I've   trained — can^t^blossom  for   the 

dead —  ^ 

The  name  I've  cherished — what  is  tb^t\to  thee, 

K  X     ^      ■ 


104  j^our  of  mtsittt. 

Pale  phantom  of  the  brain — 0  Fame  ! 

There's  none  to  weep  when  I  am  gone ; 

E'en  if  thou  wilt,  forget  my  name — 

Fve  lived  and  will  die  alone! 
I  ne'er  could  brook  an  eye  upon  my  heart — 
As  I  have  lived,  even  so  I  will  depart. 

Alas !  'tis  very  sad  to  think  that  we, 
Sons  of  the  sun,  eternal  heirs  of  light. 
Must  perish  sooner  than  the  wind-tossed  tree. 
Our  hands  have  planted,  and  unending  night 
Close  o'er  our  buried  memories  ! 
Our  sphere  of  starry  thought — our  sun 
Of  glory  quenched  in  morning  skies — 
Our  sceptre  broken — empire  gone — 
The  voice,  that  spake  creations  into  birth, 
Too  weak  to  fright  the  worm  from  human  earth  ! 

I  know  not  where  this  heart  will  sigh  its  last — 
I  cannot  tell  what  shaft  will  deal  the  blow — 
Nor,  when  the  final  agony  is  past. 
Whither  my  spirit  from  this  world  will  go  : 

It  w  ill  not  sleep,  it  cannot  die. 

It  is  too  pure  to  grovel  here  ; 

Among  the  worlds  beyond  the  sky, 

In  some  unknown  but  lovely  sphere, 
O  may  it  dwell  all  bodiless  and  bright, 
Shrined  in  a  temple  of  eternal  light! 

But,  like  our  fondest  hopes  and  best  desires. 
Our  aspirations  may  be  all  in  vain ; 


Our  souls  may  worship  their  own  glorious  fires. 
Which  light  us  only  into  dust  again ; 
Perchance,  the  creatures  of  an  hour. 
Our  being  closes  in  the  grave — 
Of  death  and  dark  corruption's  power 
I  would  not  be  the  thrall  and  slave ; 
No — let  me  plunge  into  the  black  abyss — 
My  spirit  shudders  at  the  thought  of  this ! 

Where'er  the  spirit  goes — however  it  lives — 
I  cannot  doubt  it  sometimes  comes  below. 
And  from  the  scenes  of  mortal  love  derives 
Much  to  enhance  its  happiness  or  wo. 
And  when  I  muse  of  death  and  gloom. 
And  all  that  saints  and  prophets  tell, 
I  pause  not  at  the  dark,  cold  tomb, 
Nor  listen  to  the  passing  knell, 
But  think  how  dear  the  scenes  I  loved  will  be 
When  1  gaze  on  them  from  eternity  ! 


THE  DIRGE. 


W  EEP  not  thou  for  the  dead  1 
Sweet  are  their  dreamless  slumbers  in  the  tomb- 
Their  eyelids  move  not  in  the  morning's  light, 
No  sun  breaks  on  the  solitary  gloom. 


106  mitqt. 

No  sound  disturbs  the  silence  of  their  night- 
Soft  seems  their  lowly  bed  ! 

Grieve  not  for  them,  whose  days 
Of  fleshly  durance  have  so  quickly  passed^ — 
Who  feel  no  more  affliction's  iron  chain  ! 
Sigh  not  for  them  who  long  since  sighed  their  last, 
Never  to  taste  of  sin  and  wo  again 

In  realms  of  joy  and  praise ! 

What  they  were  once  to  thee 
It  nought  avails  to  think — save  thou  canst  draw 
Pure  thoughts  of  piety,  and  peace,  and  love. 
And  reverent  faith  in  heaven's  eternal  law, 
From  their  soft  teachings,  ere  they  soared  above^ 

Lost  in  Eternity ! 

When  o'er  the  pallid  brow 
Death  flings  his  shadow — and  the  pale,  cold  cheek 
Quivers,  and  light  forsakes  the  upturned  eye. 
And  the  voice  fails  ere  faltering  lips  can  speak 
The  last  farewell — be  not  dismayed — to  die 

Is  man's  last  lot  below  ! 

Death  o'er  the  world  hath  passed 
Oft,  and  the  charnel  closed  in  silence  o'er 
Revolvent  generations — past  and  gone ! 
And  he  will  reign  till  earth  can  hold  no  more — 
Till  Time  shall  sink  beneath  the  Eternal  Throne, 

And  heaven  receive  its  last. 


mvqt.  107 

Death  enters  at  our  birth 
The  moulded  form  we  idolize  so  much. 
And  hour  by  hour  some  subtle  thread  dissolves? 
That  links  the  web  of  life —  at  his  cold  touch 
Power  after  power  decays  as  time  revolves. 

Till  earth  is  blent  with  earth. 

The  soul  cannot  abide 
In  the  dark  dreariness  of  flesh  and  sin ; — 
Its  powers  are  chained  and  trampled  on  by  clay. 
And  paralyzed  and  crushed — 't  would  enter  in 
Its  own  pure  heaven,  where  passion's  disarray 

Comes  not,  nor  hate  nor  pride. 

Come,  widowed  one !  with  me, 
And  we  will  wander  through  the  shades  of  death  ! 
Look  now  upon  those  sheeted  forms  that  soar 
Amid  the  rosy  air !  their  perfumed  breath 
Wafts  the  rich  fragrance  of  heaven's  flowery  shore— 

Amid  the  light  of  Deity  ! 

Would'st  thou  wail  o'er  their  flight  ? 
Or  curb  their  pinions  with  the  chains  of  Time  ? 
Art  thou  or  canst  thou  be  so  happy  here, 
Thy  spirit  pants  not  for  a  fairer  clime  ? 
O,  sorrowing  child  of  sin,  and  doubt,  and  fear ! 

Thy  heart  knows  no  delight. 

Would'st  thou  roll  back  the  waves 
Of  the  unfathomed  ocean  of  the  Past, 
K  2 


108'  Bir§t. 

And  from  soft  slumbers  wake  the  unilreaming  Dead, 
Again  to  shiver  in  the  bleak,  cold  blast, 
Again  the  desert  of  despair  to  tread. 
And  motirn  their  peaceful  graves  ? 

Ah,  no  ! — forget  them  not ! 
Thoughts  of  the  dead  incite  to  worthy  deeds. 
Or  from  the  paths  of  lawless  ill  deter  ; 
When  the  lone  heart  in  silent  sorrow  bleeds, 
Or  sin  entices — to  the  past  recur — 

Trust  heaven — ^thou  wilt  not  be  forgot ! 

Weep  not  for  them  who  leave 
In  childhood's  sinless  hours  the  haunts  of  vice  ! 
Mourn  not  the  lovely  in  their  bloom  restored 
To  the  bright  bowers  of  their  own  paradise ! 
Mourn  not  the  good  who  meet  their  honoured  Lor4 

Where  they  no  more  can  grieve  ! 

But  rather  weep  and  mourn 
That  thou  art  yet  a  sinning  child  of  dust. 
Changeful  as  April  skies  or  fortune's  brow ; 
And,  while  thy  grief  prevails,  be  wise,  and  jUvSt, 
And  kind — ^so  thou  shalt  die  like  flowers  that  blow^ 

And  into  rose-air  turn. 


KECHOPOZ.XS. 


Amid  the  noise  and  close  pursuit  of  gain, 
jind  strife  of  interest,  and  show,  and  glare 
Of  cities,  death  becomes  a  spectacle 
Of  sombre  pomp,  to  gaze  on,  not  to  feel ; 
A  thing  of  stern  necessity  which  all 
Idly  believe  they  must  encounter,  w^hen 
Time  summons;  but  they  think  not  that  a  chance, 
A  step,  a  word,  a  look,  may  seal  their  fate. 
And  bear  them  on  to  ruin  ;  the  mere  form, 
The  mantle  of  the  grave,  so  oft  beheld, 
Becomes  familiar — but  the  thought,  that  burns 
Into  the  bosom,  purifying  all 
The  taints  and  blots  of  years,  and  leading  on 
The  spirit  to  deep  penitence  for  sin. 
Comes  not  within  the  heart. — Whene'er  the  soul 
Contemplative,  would  with  the  sainted  dead 
Hold  still  communion,  living  forms  obtrude^ 
And  blend  the  grossness  and  the  poor  parade 
Of  earth,  with  the  pure  essence  of  our  thought  5 
And  sounds,  unmeet  for  meditation's  ear, 
Break  on  the  holy  solitude,  and  tear 
The  spirit  from  its  loftiness,  and  bring 


110  0tttopoli». 

All  the  vain  forms  and  unwise  usages 

Of  the  cold  world,  between  us  and  the  skies. 

But  would'st  thou  feel  the  deep  solemnity 
And  awe,  unmixed,  if  thou  revere  heaven's  law, 
With  dread  fanatic,  go  thou  to  the  grave 
Of  some  poor  villager,  and  contemplate 
His  silent  burial !  There  thou  wilt  see 
The  coffin  and  the  bier — the  sable  pall, 
And  dark-robed  mourners,  and  thine  ear  will  catck 
The  dreary  stroke  of  mattock  and  of  spade. 
And  thou  wilt  hear  that  hollow,  deathlike  sound 
Of  falling  clay,  most  awful  melancholy. 
As  in  the  city's  mighty  burying  place. 
But  less  of  forms — less  of  the  world  around- 
More  of  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  the  flight 
Unknown  of  that  most  subtle  thing  called  life, 
The  untravelled  realm  beyond  thee  and  the  Judge 
Immaculate,  who  waits  thy  coming,  then 
In  solitude  and  silence,  thou  wilt  muse. 
And  bow  thy  spirit  'neath  the  throne  of  heaven. 
Tears  shed  when  none  can  mark  them  must  be  pure. 
Gushing  from  the  full  heart,  and  when  the  corse 
Is  laid  within  the  narrow  house,  that  holds 
All  man's  ambition,  love,  and  wealth,  and  hope, 
And  solitude  doth  shadow  all  the  scene. 
Lone  on  the  hill-side,  thou,  in  passing  near. 
To  contemplate  the  last  abode  of  earth, 
See'st  some  pale  mourner  seated  by  the  grave. 
Where  the  uprooted  sods,  new  placed  in  earihi 
Wither  to  yellowness  in  the  hot  sun, 


^ecropoU0.  1 1 1 

Thou  may'st  be  sure  the  grief  thou  see'st  is  true  j 
And  it  will  do  thy  bosom  good  to  mark 
That  silent  mourner  ;  more  than  loud  lament, 
And  prayers  profane,  and  showers  of  ready  tears, 
Such  deep  yet  humble  wo  avails  with  Him 
Who  gave  the  dead  son  living  to  the  arms 
Of  her  who  had  given  worlds  to  see  him  live, 
Yet  asked  not  back  the  dead. — The  saddest  scenes 
Of  our  mortality  to  searching  minds, 
Become  a  pleasure  when  the  human  heart 
Pours  its  untainted  feelings  forth,  and  gives 
Like  calm,  deep  waters,  every  image  back 
In  nature  unimpaired.     There  is  in  truth. 
However  uncultured,  such  an  eloquence 
Of  joy  or  sorrow,  as  imparts  its  force 
E'en  to  the  hardest  heart ;  and  would'st  thou  hope 
To  be  remembered  fondly  after  death. 
Not  with  continual  tears  and  sighs,  but  love 
Growing  with  thought,  until  it  quite  absorbs 
The  heart,  and  gives  its  utterance  by  deeds. 
Such  as  the  mourner  thinks  thou  would'st  approve 
Living — go,  and  resign  thy  breath  to  Him 
Who  gave  it,  mid  calm  nature's  soft  repose  5 
Then  thou  wilt  sink  into  thy  final  rest. 
The  dreamless  sleep  whose  morning  has  no  end, 
With  many  things  to  comfort  thy  departure ; 
Feeling,  when  o'er  thee  comes  the  last  cold  thrill 
Of  shuddering  nature,  and  thy  voice  grows  weak 
And  hollow,  and  the  dew  upon  thy  brow 


112  <tton!50latiom 

Wets  the  warm  lips  of  love,  and  many  grasp 
Convulsively  thy  bloodless  hand,  that  they 
Will  fondly  think  of  thee  when  thou  art  gone, 
And  never  speak  thy  name  except  in  praise. 


COHJSOIuJLTlOUt' 


Why  weep*st  thou,  son  of  earth  ? 
Why  writhes  thy  pallid  brow  in  inward  strife, 
Or  heaves  thy  bosom  with  convulsive  sighs? 
O,  art  thou  weary  of  thy  lonely  life, 
And  panting  for  a  being  in  the  skies? 

Speak—  let  thy  grief  come  forth  ! 

Hath  some  beloved  friend 
Left  thee  in  loneliness  to  sigh  and  weep. 
And  evermore  to  feel  thyself  alone^ 
Thy  lovely  bride  who  on  thy  heart  did  sleep, 
Or  she  who  gave  thee  birth — her  only  one. 

Beloved  without  end  ? 

Perchance,  thou  mourn'st  the  loss 
Of  some  long  faithful  friend— now  proved  untrue. 
Baring  thy  bosom  naked  to  the  gaze 
And  mockery  of  the  world— and  through  and  through 
Thy  heart  is  pierced — and  thou  in  evil  days 

Alone  must  bear  the  cross  ; 


And  find  no  comforter  in  all 
Thy  sorrows  and  thy  sicknesses,  wliile  hate 
And  persecution  follow  thee  and  goad 
And  wound  thee  sore — and  thou  canst  not  relate 
Thy  griefs  to  any  friend,  but  bear'st  thy  load 

As  H  were  thy  funeral  pall. 

The  sweet  friends  of  thy  youth, 
Thy  kindred  loves,  the  truest  and  the  best, 
All  may  have  left  thee,  or  by  death  or  worse, 
Keen-cutting  treachery ;  and  in  thy  breast 
Their  blessing's  changed  into  a  withering  curse^ — 

And  memory's  the  grave  of  truth. 

Yet  weep  not  o'er  thy  doom 
As  those  who  hide  their  treasure  in  the  dust ; 
Though  thou  art  poor  and  scarce  canst  lay  thy  head 
In  peace  to  rest,  yet  fail  not  in  thy  trust 
Of  Him  who  watches  o'er  thy  humble  bed — 

There's  light  amid  the  gloom. 

The  hand,  that  erst  sent  food 
Ev'n  in  the  beaks  of  ravens  to  the  seer. 
And  manna  o'er  the  desert  wilderness, 
Will  serve  thy  wants  ev'n  in  thy  greatest  fear. 
And  in  the  agony  of  thy  distress 

Reveal  unlooked  for  good. 

Then  weep  no  more  nor  sigh ! 
The  Supreme  Good  wields  not  His  power  in  vain  ; 


^4  ;^iamt  ilttounti0. 

Forgive  thy  foes  and  love  them  for  His  sake, 
Who  sees  and  will  relieve  thy  hardest  pain ; 
Trust  Him  and  weep  not — and  thy  heart  will  take 
His  image  from  the  sky  ! 


THE  MIAMI  MOVX7BS. 


*Rogas  ubipost  obitum  jaceas  ?  ubi  non  nata  jaceant." 


Wrecks  of  lost  nations !  monuments  of  deeds, 
Immortal  once — but  all  forgotten  now  ! 
Mysterious  ruins  of  a  race  unknown, 
As  proud  of  ancestry,  and  pomp,  and  fame — 
Prouder,  perchance,  than  those  who  ponder  here 
O'er  what  their  wild  conjectures  cannot  solve  ! 
Who  raised  these  mouldering  battlements?  who  trod 
In  jealous  glory  o^er  these  ruined  walls  ?— 
Who  reigned,  who  triumphed,  or  who  perished  here  ? 
What  scenes  of  revelry,  and  mirth,  and  crime. 
And  love,  and  hate,  and  bliss  and  bale  have  passed  ? 
Ah  !  none  can  tell.   Oblivion's  dusky  folds 
Shroud  all  the  Past,  and  none  may  lift  the  pall; 
Or,  if  they  could,  what  would  await  the  eye 
Of  antique  research,  but  the  fleshless  forms 
Of  olden  time  ;  dark  giant  bones  that  tell — 
Nothing !  dim  mysteries  of  the  earth  and  air ! 
Since  human  passions  met  in  conflict  here. 


The  woods  of  centuries  have  grown — and  oft 
And  long,  the  timid  deer  hath  bounded  o'er 
The  sepulchre  of  warriors;,  and  wild  birds 
Sung  notes  of  love  o'er  slaughter's  crimson  field. 
And  the  gaunt  wolf  and  catamount  and  fox 
Have  made  their  couches  in  the  embattled  towers 
Of  dauntless  chiefs,  nor  dreamt  of  danger  there  ! 
Princes  and  kings — the  wise,  the  great,  the  good. 
May  slumber  here,  and  blend  their  honoured  dust 
With  Freedom's  soil ;  and  navies  may  have  rode 
On  the  same  wave  that  bears  our  starry  sails. 
Here  heroes  may  have  bled  to  win  a  name 
On  Glory's  sun-bright  scroll,  and  prophets  watched 
Their  holy  shrines,  whose  fires  no  longer  glow. 
Sweet  rose  and  woodbine  bowers  around  these  walls 
May  once  have  bloomed  less  fragrant  and  less  fair 
Than  the  fond  hearts  that  blended,  and  the  lips 
That  pressed  in  passion's  rapture ;  and  these  airs 
That  float  unconscious  by,  may  have  been  born 
Of  gales,  that  bore  Love's  soft  enchanting  words. 
But  all  is  silent  now  as  Death's  own  halls  ! 
Empires  have  perished  where  these  forests  to\f  ep 
In  desolate  array — and  nations  sunk 
With  all  their  glories,  to  the  darkling  gulf 
Of  cold  forgetfulness  ! — But  what  avails 
The  uncertain  quest,  the  dark  and  wildering  search 
For  those  whose  spirits  have  hut  passed    v«ay 
To  the  dark  land  of  shadow^s  and  of  dreams, 
L 


H6  UffigM. 

An  hour  before  our  own  ?  Why  in  amaze 
Behold  these  shattered  walls,  when  other  times 
Shall  hang  in  wondering  marvel  o'er  our  own 
Proud  cities,  and  inquire — ^*  Who  builded  these  ?'^ 


RHIGAS. 


[The  first  of  modern  Grecian  worthies,  \vho  invoked  and  concentrat- 
ed those  thunders  of  vengeance  which  have  since  burst  over  the  empire 
of  Turkey  in  Greece.     He  fell  by  treachery,  in  May,  1798.] 


From  Thessaly's  woods  a  voice  goes  forth, 
A  voice  of  wrath  o'er  the  groaning  earth, 
And  the  ancient  hills,  as  it  sounds  along, 
Wail  back  the  cry  of  a  nation's  wrong, 
And  the  ^gean  Isles  with  a  shout  reply 
To  the  far-heard  trump  of  victory. 

Olympus  stoops  to  hear 

Tlie  voice  of  patriot  power. 

And  the  gods  of  Greece  appear 
In  this  dark  and  fearful  hour. 

Men  stand  erect  in  their  pride  again, 

And  grasp  the  sabre,  that  long  hath  lain. 

Like  the  soul  of  Greece,  in  the  sloth  and  rust 

Of  dead  despair — and  they  shake  the  dust 

Of  slavery  from  their  banners  p/oud. 

And  swear  they  shall  be  their  ,aield  or  shroud  j 


The  deep  wild  voice  of  wrath  wails  on, 
And  OEta  hows  as  it  hurries  by, 

And  as  it  sweeps  o'er  Marathon, 
The  dead  send  up  an  awful  cry. 

That  voice  thrills  through  the  hearts  of  men, 
Like  lightning  through  a  tomb — the  glen, 
The  vale,  the  hill,  and  the  holy  wood 
Return  it  back  like  an  ocean  flood, 
And  the  Priestess  lights  her  Delphic  shrine, 
And  o'er  it  bends  with  a  look  divine; 
And  helm  and  brand  and  spear 

In  the  altar's  blazing  glare. 
And  the  warrior  dead  come  near, 

In  the  solemn  guise  of  prayen 

The  beacon-lights  of  the  brave  around 
Blaze  to  the  sky  o'er  the  holy  ground. 
And  warrior-forms  in  their  armour  gleam. 
Like  tlie  giant  shapes  of  a  troubled  dream  ; 
With  lances  in  rest,  and  swords  in  hand. 
As  the  Grecians   stood,  the  Grecians  stand. 

The  Turk  is  slumbering  by 

In  his  garb  of  blood  and  death— 

A  nation's  victor  cry 
Is  hanging  on  a  breath ! 

'Mid  the  pillared  ruin's  hollow  gloom. 
Bursting  in  wrath  from  the  sleepless  tomb. 
In  his  hauberk  each  and  his  belted  brand, 
The  dead  arise  in  their  stern  command; 


118  Uffiqa^. 

They  long  have  groanM  in  a  restless  trance, 
But  they  hear  the  voice,  and  seize  the  lance, 
And  put  their  terrors  on — 

And  they  throng  around  the  brave, 
And  chant  high  glories  gone 
In  the  deep  voice  of  the  grave. 

A  glorious  shape  is  passing  by, 
With  a  brow  of  gloom  and  a  lowering  eye^ — 
His  casque  is  severed — his  banner  torn — 
His  sabre  broken,  and  his  look  forlorn  ! 
Like  a  warrior's  ghost  in  the  lightning's  light, 
He  stands  before  that  altar  bright. 

The  voice  of  wrath  is  still. 
And  the  beacon-fires  are  dim, 

And  o'er  each  midnight  hill 
Is  heard  a  funeral  hymn. 

**Dark  the  Danube,  but  darker  far 
The  blood  on  the  Turkish  seymetar! 
Dark  the  Danube,  and  deep  its  wave! 
But  darker  and  deeper  Rhigas'  grave ! 
The  mighty  w^aters  flow  lonely  on. 
But  they  bear  the  corse  of  Grecians  son ! 
Kot  Passwan  Oglou's  power. 

Nor  the  shield  of  night  could  save — 
Death  is  the  patriot's  dower — 

His  freedom  is  the  grave  !" 

Then  thrice  the  warriors  uttered  ^^  wo  !" 
And  thrice  waved  their  sabres  tu  and  fro, 


And  vanished  then  with  a  hollow  groan, 
And  the  Priestess  stood  by  her  shrine  alone. 
The  fire  burned  dim,  but  it  burned  on  still, 
When  again  there  came  from  Ida's  hill 
The  wild  low  hymn  of  death  ; 

But  in  w  rath  and  grief  it  came, 
And  the  listener  held  his  breath, 
And  called  on  Jesu's  name. 

"  Slaves  to  the  Moslem  !  victory's  lords  ! 
To  the  dust  again  bequeath  your  swords  ? 
No — they  shall  gleam  in  carnage  yet 
'Mid  the  deep  death-thirst  of  the  bayonet ! 
The  corse  of  Rhigas  floats  on  the  wave. 
But  his  spirit  sleeps  not  in  the  grave. 

Let  a  nation's  battle-cry 
Ring  on  the  free-born  air ! 

Let  groans  ascend  the  sky — 
The  hero  dwells  not  there !" 

The  voice  of  wrath  is  high  and  loud. 

And  the  Great  of  Greece  are  stern  and  proud. 

And  the  beacon  fires  are  lighted  now 

On  the  sea's  wild  wave  and  the  mountain's  brow, 

And  the  sword  gleams  red  on  Marathon, 

And  a  strong  arm  shakes  the  Ott'man  throne  ! 

In  the  Grecian  army's  van, 
'Mid  havoc,  death  and  flame, 

Careers  a  god-like  man — 
His  war-word,  Rhjgas'  name  ! 

M 


sovtirn'T. 


Syren,  Farewell !  perchance,  a  last  Farewell! 
Thy  victim  votary  loves  alike  and  fears 
Thy  potent  spell,  thy  bay- wreath  gemmed  with  tears; 
Thine  eye  and  voice,  that  bid  the  bosom  swell ; 
Thy  charms,  thy  woes,  no  mortal  tongue  may  tell  j 
Beauty  that  maddens,  and  despair  that  sears, 
The  spirit  glowing  in  its  youth  of  years, 
Throned  in  its  heaven  of  thought  o'er  yawning  hell! 

Lonely  and  dark  have  been  my  youthful  days ; 
Burdened  with  poverty,  and  woes,  and  lies, 
And  all  to  me  beneath  the  watchful  skies, 
Have  been  untrue,  save  Him  I  ever  praise; 
Then  fare  thee  w  ell,  0  Syren  of  the  heart ! 
My  hope  in  Heaven  will  never  more  depart. 


rjMS. 


